Pretty Little Jinx
by RealLifeJoanWilder
Summary: Steve meets a girl who is convinced she is a jinx, bringing death and despair to all those around her. Can Steve and Mike convince her otherwise or is she really cursed?
1. Chapter 1

_**My first attempt at actually publishing a fanfic. I just wrote a one shot for another show and my friends liked it, so I thought, why not post this one I've been working on. This story will be long, so be aware. :) This is one of my favorite shows, so hopefully I do it some justice. Let me know what you think, even if it's that you think it's terrible. **_

_**Any characters from the original show are not mine and belong to their respective owners. This story is purely for entertainment purposes only.**_

The day was cold and dreary for an April afternoon in the Bay Area. Fog had rolled in overnight and settled in for a lengthy stay. Mist from the fog was heavy enough to make the many people standing around the six-foot deep hole in the ground damp and annoyed. The people under the canopy shivered but stayed dry. Everyone else threw hoods over their heads or opened umbrellas to stay dry and hopefully warmer. Everyone, that is, except Amy. She stood behind the crowd, wearing nothing but a black short-sleeved dress and pumps that were sinking into the soft ground. She was freezing and wet but didn't care; she figured it was her punishment and she needed to take it well. She also felt the weather was appropriate for the mood - hers and everyone else's. Sad days deserved sad weather. Shivering nonstop, Amy stood holding her black clutch with both hands in front of her and her head down.

Parked on the street behind her, an unmarked green police car sat in wait. Inside was a plainclothes homicide inspector named Steve Keller. He and four other inspectors with the San Francisco Police Department were watching a gravesite adjacent to the one the large group was gathered around. A man, believed to have murdered his ex-girlfriend, was expected to show up to visit his dead mother. Inspectors got a tip that this man often held a vigil at her grave on the day she died, which happened to be this day. Up to this point, this man had been in the wind, but the tip claimed that he would risk capture to hold his vigil. So, the police waited. Two men sat on the two entrances into the cemetery, one each sat on the streets surrounding the site, and Steve sat watching the actual grave. At first, he was annoyed by the fact that a funeral was being held right next to his trap. He figured that would cause his killer to stay away in case someone recognized him from the newspapers. The more he thought though, the more he realized that it might actually be a good thing; the man could use the crowd to blend in and show up undetected. At least he hoped for the latter.

"Any signs yet, Murphy?" a voice said on the police radio to one of the men at the main entrance.

"No. You guys?" Murphy asked.

"Nothing. All the people have headed to that funeral. You see anything suspicious, Keller?" a voice asked.

Steve grabbed the mic. "No one looks like him, but then he might be wearing a hat or something because of the weather. I'm going to get out and mingle with the funeral crowd."

"Keep us posted," Murphy said.

Steve got out of the car. He pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck, put his hands in his pockets, and slowly walked toward the nearby crowd. No one noticed an extra person walking up in the middle of the graveside service. He walked to the back of the crowd, which was closer to the grave he was interested in. He looked to his left, then to his right, then tried to see if anyone in the crowd looked out of place. Everything looked normal. He looked back to his left at where Amy was standing. He'd been casually watching her while he sat in the car. He noticed she came alone in a cab and talked to no one the entire time she was there. No one else seemed to even notice her. He wondered why she was standing in the back instead of joining the rest of the mourners. Another thing Steve noticed was how sad she seemed to be. Being sad at a funeral is not out of place, but he thought she looked a deeper kind of sad - the kind of sad that nothing could cure. She stood motionless, staring at the ground. Tears ran down her face and she didn't even wipe them away. She was an attractive girl and Steve, not being one to turn away from a pretty face, found himself lost in her sad world. He had no idea who she was or anything about her, but he suddenly wanted to take her sadness away. He wanted to see if he could make her smile. Everyone else in this crowd had someone to lean on, hold hands with, or simply stand next to. This girl had nothing. Why was she left out? For reasons Steve couldn't figure out, he found this really unfair.

At that point, the group started breaking up. The service was over and people started slowly heading to their cars. Steve snapped out of his trance and resumed surveying the crowd. He looked over at the street and noticed Murphy driving by. He ran over to Murphy's car, which stopped in the middle of the street.

"He just came in. I'm going to go down the road a ways and park. Everyone else is headed this way as well," Murphy told Steve.

"You see what he's wearing?" Steve asked him.

"Not really."

"Okay." Steve walked away from the car and back to the curb. Before walking back onto the grass, he stopped and watched Amy again. The crowd and broken up, but she hadn't moved an inch. She wasn't staring at the ground anymore, but she was in the same spot and stance she'd been in throughout the service. Steve decided that he would try talking to her. He'd use the excuse of asking if she'd seen his killer. However, before he could get to her, a little blonde girl had run up to her.

"Amy! You came!" the little girl said excitedly as she ran toward Amy.

Amy knelt down and outstretched her arms and the little girl ran into them, embracing Amy with a tight squeeze.

"Mama said you weren't coming," the little girl said through tears.

Amy pulled away from the hug. The little girl had tears running down her cheeks, so Amy wiped them away with her thumbs. "I couldn't not come," she told the girl.

"I'm not suppose to have heard this, but Mama thinks you made Daddy die," the little girl told Amy.

Amy made a face of disgust. She took a deep breath and looked into the little girl's eyes. "Your mommy is just really sad right now. Sometimes when someone we really love dies, we are so sad that we say or do things we don't mean. Your daddy just got really sick. It was no one's fault."

"Is that what happened to your daddy?"

Amy took the little girl's hands in hers and nodded. "Yeah. He got really sick all of a sudden."

Steve didn't know what to make of all this sudden death these girls had lived through, but he didn't have any time to dwell on it. A very angry woman in a long black dress and a black hat with a veil came storming up to the two girls.

"Jasmine! Come here this second!" the lady snapped.

The little girl reluctantly let go of Amy's hands and slowly backed up. The angry lady scooped her up and approached Amy, who had stood up.

With Jasmine in her arms, the lady got right in Amy's face. "I thought I told you you were NOT welcome here."

"Could we discuss this without Jasmine?" Amy asked quietly.

The woman completely ignored her. Jasmine hid her face into her mother's shoulder. "After all the pain you have caused my family, you have the nerve to show up here. Did you want to see your handy work up close? Make sure he was actually dead?! We trusted you...my husband thought the world of you. Why did you kill him? He wouldn't give in to your smutty advances?"

Amy's eyes started pouring out tears and she was shaking, but she did nothing but say, "I had nothing to do with this."

"Excuse me?! You had everything to do with this! You were the last one with him before he died!"

A man in a dark suit had approached the angry woman. He put his hand on her back. "Janice…"

"You were the last one with him and he died of suspicious circumstances. It doesn't take a genius to figure out who's to blame!"

"Janice!" the man snapped. "Let's go. Now."

Janice turned around to follow the man, but stopped before proceeding. She turned back to a visibly shaken Amy. With a glare that could kill, she looked at Amy and growled, "Don't you EVER come near my family again. I hope the next time I see you, it's in a courtroom and you're up on murder charges. It WILL happen; I'll make sure." She turned around and stormed off. Jasmine looked up at Amy and watched her until her mother carried her out of sight.

Amy broke down, fell to her knees, and cried into her hands. Steve couldn't believe he had just witnessed such a terrible display of anger toward a person. Here Amy had just defended Janice to her daughter, and then the woman treats her like she did in front of the entire world. It made Steve angry for this woman he didn't even know.

He started to approach Amy, but before he could talk to her this time, he saw a familiar face walking up behind her. It was his killer, Nick Milani.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thanks for the reviews! I was nervous about posting but now I'm glad I took the chance. Hopefully the rest of the story will not fall apart. :)**_

Milani was doing just what Steve had hoped he would - trying to blend into the crowd of mourners to avoid detection. Steve saw that Murphy was coming behind Milani, but was still a ways away. This capture was on Steve. He looked around and saw that the funeral crowd had thinned considerably and that most people were back at their cars. He had two choices: let Milani get to the grave and start his vigil before making his presence known, or make it known now. He wanted to get this arrest over with before Amy left the cemetery and Steve never saw her again. Not knowing if Milani was carrying or not left him with only the choice to back off until he and the other inspectors could clear the area more. However, like Murphy's Law states, if something can go wrong, it will...and it did.

On his way over to his mother's grave, which Steve was standing closer to, Milani looked up and locked eyes with the inspector. Steve wasn't sure how, but Milani must have recognized him as police because once Milani looked at him, he immediately stopped and tensed up. Steve was then left with the other option - take this guy down now. Hoping that his instincts were wrong, Milani pushed his hands further into his jacket pockets and started slowly walking toward his mother's grave. He barely made it a foot.

Steve positioned his right hand closer to the gun in its holster. "Nick Milani," he said sternly.

Amy took her hands away from her face and looked up to see what was going on around her. She first looked at Steve, who was standing in front of her, then back at Milani, who was standing to her right.

Milani, playing dumb, looked at Steve and simply asked, "Me?"

Steve ignored his stupid comment. "Nick Milani, you're under arrest for the murder of Connie Williams."

Milani walked closer to Amy, who was now standing but frozen in place and looking back and forth between the two men. He laughed and said to Steve, "You cops are a riot. You can't even get the right man."

"Don't make this difficult," Steve warned.

Milani walked right up behind Amy. "Difficult?" He laughed out loud. "It won't be difficult," he started before he whipped a gun out of his jacket pocket, wrapped his arm around Amy's neck, and pointed it right at her head, "because I'm not going anywhere."

Amy gasped. Her mind was going as fast as it ever had. _Stay still...squirm...yell...keep quiet...don't move…_ Her brain was telling her all these things but she had no time to make a decision, so she started panicking.

The second Milani touched Amy, Steve had his gun drawn and aimed right at Milani's head. "Let the girl go," he said as calmly as he could.

Murphy came up behind Milani and had his gun aimed right at the man's back.

"I'll let her go once I'm out of this cemetery."

"How do you think you'll get out of here?" Steve asked him.

"Easily, because you all are going to drop your weapons and let me go. You wouldn't want me to waste this poor thing, would you?"

Amy looked at Steve and gave him a look that seemed to say _please don't let him do that._

Steve did nothing for a moment, but he then put his gun on the ground and motioned for the other officers and inspectors to do the same.

"Alright, we put our guns down," Steve told Milani. "But now you need to let her go. No use taking a hostage. She'll just slow you down."

Milani laughed. "You gotta be kidding me. She's coming with me. When I feel like getting rid of her, you'll know it. I mean, you guys will follow me when I leave here; I know how this goes."

Amy started visualizing this scenario. All she could see was this guy either shooting her or pushing her out of his moving car. Either way sounded unpleasant and while she was certainly in no state of mind to be pro-life, this was not the way she wanted to go. She began to wonder if this was karma rearing its ugly head.

Milani started backing up, his arm still around Amy. He moved the gun to her side. "Now don't any of you try and be a hero now."

Amy decided if she was going to try and save herself, now was the time. She let Milani drag her to his car. Facing away from the car, Milani tried opening the back driver's side door while keeping his eyes on the cops and the gun on Amy. He fumbled for the door handle. While distracted, Amy lifted her leg and dug her heel into the man's crotch. He felt instant pain, but in the process of reacting to it, he pulled the trigger of the gun and shot Amy in the side. She fell to the pavement while Milani tried running away, but the pain slowed him down and he was quickly caught. While Milani was dragged away, Steve called to Murphy to get an ambulance right away. He then ran over to Amy, who was unconscious. Steve kneeled down next to her and tried to get her to wake up. He did this for what seemed like hours. He took his coat off, wadded it up, and held it against the gunshot wound in Amy's side.

Amy opened her eyes to find Steve looking at her. He was blurry and she couldn't really hear what he was saying. He sounded more like Charlie Brown's teacher than an actual human. Then the pain hit her. She winced in pain, but tried not to cry out. She tried blinking several times so she could see more clearly, but her vision only improved a little. Her hearing cleared up enough that she could hear Steve tell her that it was okay for her to scream if she needed. She took a quick assessment of her situation; she seemed to be lying on the ground and Steve was holding something on her left side, where the pain was coming from. Her head was killing her. The pain in her side was throbbing and it was only a matter of seconds before both pains caused her to start crying.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Steve told her in a calm, reassuring voice. "You're going to be fine. The ambulance should be here soon."

"Ambulance?" Amy asked, confused. "What happened?"

"Don't worry about it right now, okay?" Steve was afraid she'd start panicking or something if she knew all the details. "What's your name?" he asked her, more to get her mind off everything else than actually learn her name.

Amy paused for a second. She suddenly couldn't remember her own name. "Uh…" She thought hard, then finally said, "Amy. Amy Johnson." She winced again.

"Nice to meet you, Amy Johnson. I'm Steve Keller."

"Hi, Steve Keller," she said back. She put her hand up to her left side and ended up putting her hand on top of Steve's. "What's wrong with my side?"

"Well…" Steve started, but Amy pulled at his hand and the jacket he had wadded up under it. She turned her head to the left and saw that the jacket had quite a bit of blood on it. She threw herself into a panic attack, complete with hyperventilating.

Steve quickly put his jacket back with his right hand and put his left hand on her right cheek.

"Hey, look at me. Look at me,"

Amy tried very hard to look at him.

"Try to breathe with me, okay?" He started breathing in slowly and out slowly. In and out. In. Out. Amy tried very hard to concentrate on his breathing, and soon she was back to breathing instead of hyperventilating.

"Good. That's better," Steve told Amy.

"Did that guy shoot me?" Amy asked, her thoughts coming back to her.

Steve nodded. "But you're going to be okay. Thanks to you, he didn't get away from us again."

"Again?"

"Yeah, he was in hiding for awhile, but now we can finally put him in jail where he belongs."

"What did he do?"

"Shot his ex."

"Thank God I'm alive then, huh?"

"Exactly."

At that moment, an ambulance drove down the street toward Amy and Steve.

"Okay, Amy Johnson, they're going to put you in an ambulance and take you to the hospital. You'll be just fine," Steve said.

"Will you come with me?" Amy asked him. She wasn't sure why she wanted a stranger to come along and comfort her while she was surrounded by other strangers, but there was something calming about Steve.

"I have to wrap this mess up, but I'll come see you in the hospital." He wanted to go and stay with her, but he knew his partner and superior Mike Stone would want to know all the details as soon as possible.

The ambulance stopped and the attendants hopped out and grabbed a gurney. They ran to Amy and started attending to her. Steve stood up and backed away to give the men room. "You'll be okay," he said to Amy as he slowly walked away.

She watched him walk away and over to a group of men she assumed were other cops. She watched as he stood there talking to them but turning his head every few seconds to see what was going on with her. Once he was out of sight, she noticed something: the pain came rushing back. She hadn't noticed it was even there once Steve started talking to her and calming her down. What was it about that guy?


	3. Chapter 3

_**Sorry I haven't updated lately. I wanted to update much more often, but I've been in Hawaii the last week (living through the hurricane even) and haven't been on the computer as often. Short chapter.**_

Mike Stone stepped out of his office and looked around the squad room. His partner was not at his desk or anywhere else in the room. He looked at his watch. The stakeout had ended two hours prior and Milani had been sitting in a cell for the last hour. Steve should have been at his desk typing his report.

"Anyone seen Steve?" Mike asked anyone who was listening.

"Last I saw he was down trying to get Milani to crack," Murphy announced.

"Crack? About what? The District Attorney thinks we found enough evidence against him to go before a grand jury; we don't need his confession."

"Anything," Murphy told the lieutenant. "That girl getting shot really bothered him. Pissed him off actually."

Mike half nodded. "Understandable. We don't aim to get civilians injured."

"Yeah, but it's like he took this personally, like the guy shot his sister or something. It was just some girl."

Mike gave Murphy a look that let the inspector know his comment was not appreciated.

Murphy got the hint. "Well, you know what I mean," he said, trying to redeem himself.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Mike said, obviously still irritated. He didn't like Murphy's insinuation that Steve shouldn't care about a victim and should just consider the girl collateral damage. Mike's job was to protect the citizens of San Francisco, a city he loved dearly, and this sometimes meant taking something a little personal to get the job done. He figured that was Steve's motivation.

However, he knew his partner, especially when it came to women. Mike didn't know anything about this victim, but he wouldn't have bet against her being young and attractive. If she were in a position to need help, which she clearly was, Mike figured she was prone to be putty in Steve's hands anyway. The thought made Mike almost chuckle when the young man himself walked in, muttering frustrated obscenities under his breath.

"Any luck?" Mike asked as Steve took his sport coat off and angrily flung it at his desk.

"He won't crack about Connie, he won't say where he's been the past eight months, he won't even admit to taking a hostage. We were right there and watched him do it! I told him he's now looking at kidnapping, attempted murder, false imprisonment, and concealed weapons charges, and all he wanted to know is why we were in the cemetery and when he can go back and see his mother." Steve threw himself down on his chair and kicked his desk. Mike indicated with a nod of his head that he wanted to see his partner in his office. Steve sighed, got up, and walked in the office, closing the door behind him. He sat down in a chair in front of Mike's desk.

"What's really bothering you?" Mike asked.

"What do you mean?" Steve asked back, avoiding the question he was asked.

"You know there is plenty of evidence on Milani, so getting a confession out of him isn't necessary. Why are you so upset?" Mike figured he knew the reason, but he wanted Steve to admit it, not just to Mike, but to himself as well.

"He's an arrogant jerk; you would have even gotten mad talking to him," was all Steve said.

"This has nothing to do with the girl he shot?" Mike asked, sitting in his desk chair and leaning back.

Steve looked at Mike looking at him. Deep down, he knew Mike was on to him. The man was a successful detective for a reason. "It didn't have to go down that way. It shouldn't have gone down that way. I just wanted him to admit to it, admit to shooting her on purpose or something...anything."

"He's going away for a very long time whether he admits to anything or not. The grand jury will indict him and O'Brien will get him off the streets for good. Don't even think about him anymore. As far as we're concerned, that case is closed. How's the girl?"

"Amy. Her name is Amy. And I don't know. I was just so irritated with Milani that I had to get him to admit to something."

"Go see how she is, if she needs anything. Go ease your mind so I can have you back at 100%. Never know when the next case will come along and I don't want your head somewhere else."

Steve looked at Mike. "I'm fine, really." Mike simply looked at Steve. The look said to Steve what words didn't, so he got up, smiled and nodded at his partner, and walked out of the office. He knew better than to argue.


	4. Chapter 4

Amy closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but noise in the hallway distracted her. Close eyes, noise, open eyes. Close eyes, noise, open eyes. This pattern went on for several minutes until a nurse came in, checked Amy's vital signs, and left, closing the door behind her. This cut down on the noise considerably. Amy tried closing her eyes again. She'd been told to try and get some rest, but every time she closed her eyes, she'd start replaying the incident and she'd throw herself into a panic attack. Then she had to open her eyes and breathe in an attempt to calm down. She didn't want to tell the nurse about how she felt when she tried to sleep because she didn't want more drugs on top of the painkillers that were not working. She wasn't on a very high dose and the pain left over was more than a simple annoyance. What she really wanted to do was go home and hide from the world.

A few minutes later the door opened and Steve peeked his head in. Amy, upon hearing the noise, turned her head toward the door. She smiled when she saw who was there.

"I'm awake," she said. "Come on in."

He walked over to her bed. "How are you feeling? You look better than you did last time I saw you."

"Eh. I guess I should say okay because I'm alive, but this is the worst pain I've ever had."

"I bet. What did the doctor say?" Steve asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"The x-rays looked okay. No concussion from when I hit my head on the pavement and the bullet missed all major organs, so he removed the bullet and stitched up the wound. Now they're just keeping me here to make sure I don't have any adverse reactions. I'd rather go home. It seems like I've been here forever."

"Better safe than sorry, though," Steve said, taking her hand. "You had me worried there for awhile."

Amy wondered why he was being so nice, but at the same time she liked it; no one had really shown her this much attention in a long time. She squeezed his hand but then wondered why she was even holding hands with a guy she'd just met. Didn't stop her from doing so, however. "So, Steve Keller, why were you guys at the cemetery anyway?"

"We got word that the guy who shot you always visits his mother's grave on this day no matter what, so we decided to meet him there."

"And her grave was by Carl's."

"Carl?"

"The funeral was for my boss Carl. He died suddenly a few days ago."

"I saw that woman approach you and accuse you of killing him. She doesn't actually think that, does she?"

"Carl's wife. Yes she does. I was the last person who saw him alive, and he died so suddenly. He wasn't sick before that at all."

"What did he die of?" Steve asked.

"They said heart attack."

"Well then she has no ground to stand on. Heart attacks come out of nowhere. You didn't give him one."

Amy shrugged and turned her head away from Steve.

"You don't believe you gave someone a heart attack?" Steve asked.

Amy turned back to Steve. "Do you know how many people around me have died lately? So many people. At first I thought it was just a bad year, but none of the people were old or sick. They all died unexpectedly. I came to realize that I must be an angel of death or something. People around me just die."

Steve just stared at Amy. "That's ridiculous. No one causes people to die unless they physically kill them. Did you shoot any of these people? Stab them? Poison them?"

"Of course not," Amy snapped.

"Then why do you think you're a killer?"

"It can't be just a coincidence!"

"Sure it can."

"If you were investigating this, you wouldn't think it was just a coincidence. I've seen enough cop shows on TV; it's never a coincidence."

Steve chuckled. "You know that's just TV right? Although, you kind of sound like Mike."

"Mike?"

"My partner. Maybe a lot of times it isn't a coincidence, but then there is evidence. I bet I wouldn't find a bit of evidence to pin a murder on you."

Amy turned her head again. She was on the verge of crying and didn't want Steve to see...again.

"Who has died?" Steve asked quietly after awhile.

Amy sniffed and turned her head back to Steve. Tears were running down her cheeks. "The first was my dad."

"Your dad? You didn't kill your dad."

"How do you know? I might have. You don't know me."

Steve got up off the bed and began wandering around the room. "Okay, you're right. I don't know you. But you know what I do know? My job. I have interrogated many murderers in my career, so I like to think I have a decent idea of how they act when they kill someone in cold blood. One thing I've noticed is that a lot of them don't cry. They're not sorry the deceased is gone. If they do cry, they're faking it, and it's pretty noticeable." He walked over to Amy's bed and looked her in the face. "These tears," he said, pointing to the tears she had rolling down her cheeks, "are real. The tears I saw at the cemetery were real. You, pretty lady, are no killer." Steve grabbed a tissue and handed it to Amy.

Amy took the tissue and tried to quietly blow her nose. Even in pain and depressed, she was mindful of being ladylike in front of a handsome man.

"What happened to him?" Steve asked, sitting back down on the bed next to Amy.

Amy looked up at the ceiling, and then closed her eyes and winced. She was experiencing a pain from her gunshot wound, but Steve's question opened an even bigger wound. "I don't really know," she said after working through the pain and fighting off the tears. "He started complaining of having a headache one day and the next day he was gone."

"Did they do an autopsy?"

Amy nodded. "The doctor said he'd hit his head at some time in the last day or so and tore a vein somewhere. The vein bled out into dad's brain. I think the doctor called it a subdural hematoma. Mom and I have no idea how it happened and obviously we couldn't ask."

Steve nodded. "Did anyone else die between your dad and Carl?"

Amy wiped tears out of her eyes. "There was Darren. He was a friend of mine from school. He was in a car accident. Then there was a girl I went to school with. She lived down the hall from my roommate and I when we were at Berkeley. We did not like each other; she was actually kind of a bully toward me. She OD'd. Then there was Shawn. He was this guy I met at a conference. We went out twice, and then he turned into a complete jerk. He ended up dying from food poisoning. Who dies from food poisoning?"

"It happens. He must have eaten something very expired." Steve cringed.

"I guess. Oh, I forgot Shannon. She and I were up for the same internship and she got it. Three days later she ends up falling down a flight of stairs after a party and breaks her neck. You see? I had contact with all these people and they all died in these weird accidents." Another twinge of pain hit Amy, this time in her head. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe through it.

Steve took Amy's hand again. She squeezed it hard enough that Steve winced in pain. "Are you okay? Should I get a nurse?" he asked.

Amy shook her head. "No. I'm just a baby when it comes to pain. I'll be fine." Her tears said otherwise.

Steve pushed the call button for the nurse. "Did all these so-called accidents happen in San Francisco?"

Amy shook her head. "Dad died in LA. Everyone else was up here though. Why?"

"Just curious. Call me suspicious, but they don't all sound like a bunch of accidents."

"I'm a jinx and these people paid for it with their lives."

At that moment, a nurse came in ,and Steve told her how much pain Amy was in. The nurse started to give her a dose of morphine and Amy tried to tell the woman she didn't want it, but the nurse disagreed. After the nurse left, Steve could tell some of the pain had already subsided.

"Get some sleep, okay?" he told her. "I'm going to go do some investigating of my own. I'll be back to check up on you."

Amy, groggy and not thinking clearly, simply said, "What?"

Steve leaned in and whispered in Amy's ear, "Go to sleep." He walked toward the door, turned back to say goodbye to Amy, and found she'd already closed her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thanks for all the reviews! I'm glad you like the story. **_

Steve walked into the squad room and sat down at his desk. He'd decided to look into all these deaths he'd just heard about, but he had no idea where to start. He couldn't investigate them officially unless they were open murder cases, and even then they wouldn't be his cases. There wouldn't be time to do any side investigations if he and Mike caught another official case. He wanted so badly to figure this whole mess out, but didn't know how.

"Hey, Keller," Inspector Grabowski said as he walked in the room. "I hear one of my suspects is also your victim."

Keller turned around to look at the man. "What are you talking about?"

"Amy Johnson. She's the lady who Milani shot today, right?"

Steve nodded.

"Well, she's the subject of one of my cases," Grabowski informed him.

"Are you kidding me? There's an open murder investigation on her?" Steve asked, more than slightly outraged.

"I wish I were kidding. Carl Duncan, professor at Berkeley, dies from a heart attack and the last person to see him alive is his student and part-time nanny, Amy Johnson. His wife Janice immediately assumes murder for no good reason, despite the results of the autopsy. She screams so loud that an official investigation is open. This woman is driving me insane. She calls every damn day asking why Amy hasn't been arrested yet."

"Let me guess, no evidence?" Steve said.

Grabowski walked over to his desk and grabbed a folder. He walked back to Steve and handed it to him. "Not a shred. Frankly, the case is hardly even a priority. I have two others that are actual cases."

Steve started looking through the folder as Mike walked in. Steve turned around and saw his partner. "Mike, this needs to be our case," he said.

Mike walked into his office and took off his hat and overcoat. "What case is that?"

Steve walked in his office and closed the door. He handed Mike the folder. "Right now it's Grabowski's case, but he doesn't have the time to do anything with it. I know she's innocent, so you and I should be investigating this. Something is going on in this girl's life and I have to find out what."

Mike put on his glasses and started looking through the papers.

"All these people in her life are dying, yet they are all supposedly accidents. Accidents my ass."

"Is this the girl Milani shot this morning?"

Steve nodded. "Mike, she's not a killer. She's being set up or...I don't even know, but I need to find out what is going on. We don't have any other active investigations right now, so I don't see why we can't take this one."

Mike smiled. "You were going to do a little investigating on the side anyway, right?"

"You know too much."

"I'll talk to Olsen, see what he says. In the meantime, you've piqued my curiosity. What exactly do you know about all this that leads you to think it's a frame job or something?"

"While at the cemetery, she was attending the funeral of the deceased, Carl Duncan."

Mike looked again at the folder. "Autopsy says heart attack," he said.

"Uh huh. Amy was there and, okay, I was watching her because she was standing all alone in the back," he admitted, throwing in, "close to Milani's mother's grave." He hoped that would make it seem less like he was girl watching instead of doing his job.

Mike chuckled to himself. He knew that Amy's proximity to the grave probably had little to do with why Steve watched her, but he didn't want to rib his partner too badly. "Go on," he told Steve.

"After the funeral, Milani still hadn't shown up yet, so I was looking around the crowd to make sure he hadn't tried to blend in with them. This woman, who I now know is Janice Duncan, the deceased's wife, comes up to Amy and starts ripping into her for showing up at the funeral. Accuses her right there of killing her husband and swears she'll have her arrested. When I went to see her in the hospital, she tells me that Carl died because she's a jinx and causes people around her to die off unexpectedly."

"There are others?" Mike asked.

"All ruled accidents, I assume. I haven't looked into any of them, but Amy says they died of car accidents, food poisoning, falls down stairs...her own father died from a blow to the head no one knew about. It's more than just someone with horrible luck, I just know it."

Mike set the folder down. "That stubborn persistence is what makes you a good cop, you know."

Steve chuckled. "Takes one to know one."

"Tell you what. Take the rest of the day off. I'll talk to Rudy and see if he'll let us take on the case."

Steve stood up. "You don't have to tell me twice. I will see you in the morning." He walked out of the lieutenant's office.

Mike picked the folder back up and began reading the information more closely. The more he read, the more he wondered just how deep this investigation was going to go, especially if there really were other bodies connected to it. He swallowed hard, the thought of having a serial killer on the loose crossing his mind. He grabbed the phone receiver and immediately called Captain Olsen.


	6. Chapter 6

Amy lay in bed staring at the TV. An early-season Giants game was on, but she wasn't paying a bit of attention to it; she was just too lazy to change the channel. She was still in pain, but the medication was doing a better job of masking it. There was also talk of her being able to go home the next day, so her spirits were better than they had been the previous day. Her stay in the hospital had only been a little over twenty-four hours, but she was anxious to get away from the sadness and despair that was hospital atmosphere. Every hospital she had ever been in had this same feeling and it was working on Amy's nerves. All she wanted was to go home and hide out in her bedroom for a while.

Another thing she found herself wanting was to see Steve Keller walk through the door. She hadn't been awake much of the previous day and was afraid she'd missed him coming back. The nurse assured her the only visitor she'd had was her cousin and roommate, Karen. A note Amy found pinned to her hospital gown had let her know her younger cousin would return the next day when Amy was awake so that she did not have to "talk to a corpse." There was no bratty note from anyone else.

Amy wondered what Steve was up to. Was he working on her case? Was there even a case? He seemed to think so, but she still disagreed. She had no doubts that Steve was much more of an expert on murder than she, but how could he even think there were murders committed? Car accidents happen every day. It wasn't the first time a drunken person had lost their balance and fallen. Some people are even careless when it comes to spoiled foods. Amy wondered if after a certain amount of time working in homicide, every slightly-suspicious death was a homicide whether it actually was or not. She kind of wanted to ask.

She also kind of just wanted to see him, regardless of murder. He seemed like a truly nice guy and Amy always had a soft spot for men who were nice to her. She had tried talking herself out of numerous crushes on nice guys over the years because she knew it was beyond foolish to fall for a guy simply because he was nice to her. A lot of people are just nice to everyone, or they are nice because it is part of their job. That was the one Amy kept telling herself this time; it was part of his job to be nice and concerned. She was injured while he was working and maybe he felt bad or guilty about it, so he was being nice to her as a way to say sorry. That's all. Too bad the realistic part of her brain was vastly smaller than the giddy schoolgirl in love part. Amy wished the drugs were not working as well as they were. She could use the painful distraction to get her mind to stop thinking silly thoughts.

There was a knock at her door. She turned and saw it open slowly. Her hopes rose, but then quickly fell when she saw it was not who she'd hoped. "Paul?" she asked the visitor.

"Oh good, you're awake. I was hoping you would be."

"What are you doing here?" Amy asked her childhood next door neighbor. "I didn't know you were in San Francisco."

He walked into the room with a rather large bouquet of red and pink roses in a glass vase. He looked around the room for a place to put the get well gift. "I got into town a couple days ago." He finally decided to set them on a table by the window. "You remember that my grandmother lives in Sausalito?"

Amy grunted affirmatively.

"Well she hasn't been feeling well lately since Grandpa died, so I'm up here spending some time with her." Paul rearranged the flowers so that they looked just how he wanted them to look.

"I didn't know your grandfather had died. I'm sorry to hear that."

Paul walked over to Amy's bed. "Imagine how _I_ felt when I heard you'd be shot, and in the middle of a police stakeout no less! You just can't trust the Gestapo to do anything right, can you?"

Amy tried not to look completely annoyed with what Paul had just said, but she doubted she was doing a very good job. Paul had always been that way with authority figures; he saw them as nothing but screw ups and more of a hindrance to society than a help. He always thought the LAPD was the most corrupt organization in the country and Amy had no doubt that he now saw the SFPD in the same light. "It was no one's fault but the guy who shot me. The police did everything they could. If I wouldn't have kicked the guy, he might not have flinched and shot me. It's just as much my fault as anyone's."

Paul gave Amy a shaming look. "It is never your fault! Don't say things like that! You were the victim and they did not adequately protect you. You have a lawsuit on your hands here!"

Amy knew she needed to move on from this conversation or she'd end up doing or saying something regrettable. "How did you know anything happened to me anyway?"

Paul sat on the bed in the same place Steve had sat the day before. Amy suddenly felt a great urge to move him off the spot.

"My mother told me."

"How did she find out?"

"Your mother told her."

Amy shook her head. Los Angeles was the second most populous city in the United States, but in terms of gossip, it might has well have been a small town of 200 people. "The entire world did not need to find out."

"I'm glad I did! You're going to need someone to help you out, a friend to lean on. Remember when I broke my arm and leg in that car accident when we were 13? You helped me a lot through that, so now it is my turn to repay you."

Amy smiled a very insincere smile. "That's sweet, but you don't need to. Karen will help me if I need anything. Besides, I can still use both arms and legs and the wound was not that deep. It was more of a flesh wound than anything." It was more than a simple scrape, but Amy didn't want to make it sound that way.

"You should still take it easy though. I mean, I heard about everything that has been happening lately. The professor's death, the police investigation, now this. I know how anxious you can get. I want you to know I'll be there for you if you need me. That's what friends are for, right?"

Amy had to admit that he was right about one thing: she was the anxious type. She even had the Valium prescription to prove it. Paul knew this because as her neighbor, classmate, and friend, he'd seen her through several panic attacks and anxious moments. However, she was trying hard to work through the anxiety on her own and at this moment, did not see Paul as an anti-anxiety agent.

"I'll be fine. I'm actually doing well working my mind around it," she told him, trying to dissuade him from wanting to be at her side all day and night. Even though she did consider herself Paul's friend, she could only take him in small doses. He had a tendency to be annoyingly high-strung and confrontational. Social graces were never his forte.

"No nightmares?"

_Thanks. Now I will have some_, Amy thought. She shook her head. "You need to spend more time with your grandmother anyway. She needs you, too."

"You're a very stubborn person, Amy Johnson," he said. "But okay. I can easily split my time between the both of you. Grandma is old and sleeps a lot, so I can be at your side in no time whenever you need me."

Amy found that rather rude toward his grandmother, but she did not want to start an argument. "Okay," was all she said.

Paul started looking around the room. He saw a paper hospital menu on a table next to Amy's bed and grabbed it. He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and wrote something on the paper, handing it to Amy.

"That's my phone number. Anytime you need _anything_, call me. Sausalito is just across the bridge. I don't care if it's 3am, call me. Even if you just need cheering up. I know you feel bad about things that have happened recently, but they're not your fault. Know that."

Amy gave him another insincere smile. "I know. I'll get away from thinking that some day."

Paul grabbed Amy's hand. "Good. You're too good a person to be so sad all the time. Oh, by the way, I visited your father's grave the other day. I know you'd go often if you were still in LA, but since you're not, I thought I'd do it."

Amy wasn't sure whether she thought this was a nice gesture or an obnoxious one. Sure, Paul was a friend, but her father was not his father, so he had no real reason to visit. Plus, her dad was never a big fan of Paul's anyway. He always thought Paul was a bad influence, though he had no real proof. "Thank you. I'm sure mom keeps it looking nice. She still visits every day I'm sure."

"Oh, I know, but I just thought your presence should be there. I left him some chocolate chip cookies. I remember you telling me once that you and he used to eat cookies and watch movies when you were little."

Now Amy was just getting irritated. Yes, it was kind of a daddy-daughter tradition with them, but that was none of Paul's business even if she had told him once upon a time, and if her presence needed to be there, she'd put it there herself. "I'm getting kind of tired," she said in the hopes that Paul would get the hint to leave.

"Oh, sure, I bet." He leaned over and gave Amy a big hug. She reciprocated, though not as friendly. "When are you getting out of here? I can take you home," Paul told her.

"Not sure. I think in a couple days," she lied, letting go of the hug.

"Well, you let me know and I'll be here to take you home. I have Grandma's car."

"Sure, that would be nice."

"Get some rest, okay. And call me if you need me! I'll see you later." Paul smiled at her and walked out of the room.

Ever since they were kids and in the same second grade class, Paul had been overprotective of Amy. Her mom had once suggested it was because she was his one true friend and he felt the need to protect her as thanks. He had never gotten along with a lot of the guys and had also been a bit of a reclusive brainiac, leading him to be quite a loner. Amy always felt kind of sorry for him, as she had never felt overly popular herself. She didn't like seeing people without friends, so she was nice to anyone she thought needed someone. Paul was one of those people. As they got older, she became a bit more social, but Paul became more reclusive, choosing to spend more time on science experiments and reading crime novels. He was bullied often, which Amy fought against. Even then, she felt Paul took the friendship too seriously; she may have been his only friend and his protector, but he was not hers. She had several girlfriends to hang out with and didn't always like the guilt Paul would lay on her for spending time with them and not him. Amy often relented, not wanting to upset him. She had a feeling all that was going to come back now. In the two years she'd been away from Los Angeles, she hoped that Paul would find his own life, but she was pretty sure he hadn't.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve came to work the next morning hopeful. He was sure that Captain Olsen would see things his way and agree to let him and Mike take on Amy's case. He didn't really want to think about how things would go if Olsen disagreed. As he walked in the squad room, he found Mike already there and at his desk. Looking at his watch, he saw that it was only 7:30. He wondered what got Mike up and about so early.

"What are you already doing here?" Steve asked, entering the office.

Mike looked up from his reading, which was the file the department had on Amy's case. "Well, buddy boy, you must have been good this year because you got your wish. Rudy okayed our taking over the case."

"Really?" Steve said, excited that he was going to get to be the one who got to the truth.

"Mmm hmm, but with one caveat. He thinks we should have some good results by this time next week. I managed to sell him on your theory that there is something else beneath the surface, but he wants evidence sooner rather than later."

Steve clapped his hands together as a sign that he was more than ready to begin. "I've been thinking of where to begin with this."

"It's your case; you take the lead."

"First, we should check to see if they did a tox screen on Carl Duncan. He either really had just a heart attack or something in his system caused it. We should also look into other people in his life, like his…"

"Wife," Mike said, cutting Steve off before he could say the same thing.

"Well now this is just getting ridiculous," Steve said, teasing his elder partner about knowing him too well.

Mike grinned. "I was reading Grabowski's notes on her. She sounds like quite the lady. Tell you what, you check on the tox screen. I am going to see if I can get Janice Duncan's financial records. I want to see if there is something fishy there."

Steve went to the door to leave when Mike stopped him.

"Hold on a second." Mike stood up and walked over to his partner. He closed the door. "I want to make sure you are open to whatever happens."

Steve gave Mike a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"

"I just want you to be aware that we might find out Amy isn't as innocent as you think. I need you to be open to every possibility."

Steve was upset. "You don't actually think she did something? There is no evidence implicating her in anything!"

Mike put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "Calm down. You're right, there isn't anything yet, but you know as well as I do that the more you dig, sometimes you discover things you wish you hadn't. We may never find anything, and I sincerely hope for your sake we don't, but there is a chance we might. I just want you to be prepared."

Steve took a breath and let it out. Despite his protesting, he knew Mike was right. However, he also felt strongly that Mike was wrong. "I'll be fine, but she's innocent." He smiled. "I know she is." He walked out of Mike's office and over to his own desk.

Mike stood at his door watching his partner pick up the phone and call the coroner's office. He knew his partner was stubborn. He knew his partner would fight to the end to find the truth. He also knew, despite everything Steve might have said, that he would be nothing short of devastated if this girl were found to be guilty. Mike hadn't even met her, but he just knew there was something different and special about this girl, something he hadn't seen with any woman Steve had known in the last couple years. On one hand it made him glad; his partner deserved some happiness. He always hoped that Steve would find a woman as wonderful as his own wife. However, on the other hand, the whole thing worried Mike. He was just afraid something was going to happen to hurt Steve. He forced himself to put the thoughts in the back of his mind and focus on the case at hand. Sitting back down at his desk, he picked up the phone to start the process of getting Janice Duncan's bank records.

Half an hour later, Steve popped his head into Mike's office. "Nothing on the tox report yet. Coroner's office said it could still be a few days. Any luck with the financials?"

"They should be coming soon," Mike informed him.

"If you don't mind, I am going over to the hospital to tell Amy what's going on. I didn't get over there yesterday to give her an update."

"I need to meet this girl sometime. I want to know the girl who's got you so passionate about this case."

Steve didn't say anything. He just smirked at Mike and walked out of the squad room. Mike chuckled.

* * *

Amy stood in front of a full-length mirror that was in her hospital room. She had her gown raised on her left side so she could see her wound. At the moment, it was covered with bandages, so it looked fine, but she knew the bandages would come off eventually, and she'd be left with a disgusting scar and constant reminder of how marred she was now. Not that she felt whole before, but this was just further evidence that she was damaged goods.

Every time she thought about the wound, she'd get emotional. Not because it hurt but because it was ugly. She hadn't even seen it, but just imagining how it looked made her anxious and weepy. A nurse had tried to assure her that it wouldn't even look like much; the surgeon who stitched her up was one of the best. The nurse also mentioned that plastic surgery was an option if Amy didn't like the way the wound healed. The words assuaged her fears slightly, but not enough to make the panic go away.

She wasn't even sure why it mattered. It was on her left side just under her ribcage, a place no one saw. She wasn't the type to wear tube tops and she didn't spend her free time in a bikini on the beach, but it would always be there for her to see. If she ever got into a relationship, it would be there for him to see as well. The more she thought of that aspect, the more it bothered her. Tears began welling up in her eyes and since no one was around to witness, she stood in front of the mirror and let the floodgates open. She dropped the gown and put her head in her hands.

Steve chose that moment to arrive at Amy's room. He popped his head in and saw Amy crying at the mirror. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he said, quickly walking over to her and gathering her in his arms. "Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay." He kept repeating that until her hyperventilated breathing calmed to a few spread-out hiccups. He pulled away from the embrace and looked her in the eyes. "What happened? Are you okay?"

At any other time, Amy would have been glad to see Steve, but now it was just embarrassing. She could feel herself starting to cry again, so she quickly turned around and walked over to the bed. She climbed in and flopped down on her side, burying her face in her pillow. Unfortunately, she was on her left side and then pain she felt once she hit the bed was intense. "Owwwww," she shouted out in pain into the pillow.

Steve walked over to the bed, sitting on the side. "Come here," he said, taking her arm and sitting her up and off her side. "What is going on?"

Amy just shook her head. "Nothing. I'm just...nothing."

Her long brown hair was stuck to her face so Steve moved it back to where it belonged. "This is not the face of someone with nothing bothering them. Are you in pain?"

Amy shook her head no.

"Did something else happen? Janice hasn't been here, has she?" Steve asked, worried that the woman had once again took her inexplicable anger out on Amy.

"No, she hasn't been here."

"Good. So what has you so upset?" He got up and grabbed a tissue, handing it to Amy as he sat back down beside her.

"Really, it's nothing." Amy wiped the tears out of her eyes and took a deep breath. "Sometimes I just get...this way. I'll be okay."

"If something is bothering you about what happened, you can talk to me about it, okay? I've been told I can listen on occasion." Steve gave her a jovial smile.

Amy smiled but was soon distracted by the door to her room opening. A doctor came in. "Nice to see you up," the man told Amy. She simply nodded.

"Dr. Warren," he then said, putting his hand out to Steve.

Steve took the doctor's hand and shook it. "Steve Keller."

"Nice to meet you. Your girl is doing very well. I think after I examine her now, we'll start the paperwork to get her released. No sense in sitting around here. I'm sure you'd rather have her home anyway."

Steve grinned at the doctor's assumption that he was Amy's boyfriend or husband. "That is for sure. No offense, but hospitals aren't very homey," Steve said, playing along. He put his arm around Amy's shoulders.

Amy was still too wound up in her own sorrow to even notice what had just happened. "You think I can go home?" Then the part of her brain in charge of overthinking and worrying kicked in. "What if something happens, like the stitches break and the wound reopens, or I get an infection, or I start bleeding all over the place…"

Steve hopped off the bed, turned to face Amy, and put her head in his hands. "Hey, hey, look at me."

Amy looked him squarely in the eyes.

"None of that is going to happen." He looked up at Dr. Warren. "Can we have a minute?"

"Absolutely. I'll be at the nurses' station when you're ready." He smiled and walked out of the room, making sure the door was closed behind him.

Steve sat back down on the bed next to Amy. "I know we don't know each other very well, but I want you to trust that I am not just telling you things to make you feel better or making up stories. Everything I say is one hundred percent honest."

Amy nodded. "You're the police; I trust you."

Steve chuckled. "Well, thank you, but not all cops should be trusted, you know."

"You never seemed like one of those," she told him.

Steve took Amy's right hand in his left. "I've been through this."

"You've been shot before?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah, and you know what? I'm fine. Spent a couple days in the hospital, just like you. I was discharged with instructions on how to care for wounds and what to do if something goes awry. Nothing happened though. You don't seem like the type of person who would ignore doctor's orders, so nothing will happen with you either. Trust me. Plus, I'll be hanging around if trouble does arise."

Amy looked at him, unsure what he meant by "he'll be hanging around." She didn't want to argue for fear of discouraging him from ever seeing her again.

Steve hopped off the bed and stuck his head out the door. He locked eyes with Dr. Warren, who came back in the room seconds later. "Are you feeling better about being discharged now?" he asked Amy, walking to her bedside.

She nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes he just has to knock some sense into me," she said, playing along this time.

Dr. Warren patted Steve on the back. "Trust me, I know the feeling. I've had to do it with my own wife. Well, as soon as I check you over, unless there are complications, we'll get you out of here. Sound good?"

Amy nodded. "How long do you think before I can leave? Steve probably needs to get back to work."

"Oh, I'm fine. In fact, I'll stick around and take you home before I go back, if that's okay."

Amy nodded again. "I just don't want you getting in trouble for being here instead of working."

"Technically I am working right now, so we're good."

Amy wasn't sure what he meant. "You are?" she asked him.

"I'll explain later. I better call Mike just so he knows I'll be late." He looked at Dr. Warren. "I'll wait down the hall. When she's ready, come get me."

"Not a problem," the doctor stated.

Steve leaned over and kissed Amy on the forehead. "You'll be fine, and I'm not far away, okay?"

"Okay," Amy whispered, happily caught off guard by the display of affection. She watched as Steve casually walked out of the room and down the hall. She also felt a sudden rush of calm come over her.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve had been sitting in the waiting area down the hall from Amy's room for what seemed like hours, though it was only 30 minutes, when Dr. Warren came up to him.

"Everything looks just fine. I had the nurse start on the discharge papers," he told Steve.

"Great," Steve said, standing up.

"The nurse will go all over this with Amy, but I find it's helpful if family knows as well, just in case."

_Just in case what?_ Steve thought.

Dr. Warren handed him a leaflet on wound care. "It's not as complicated as some might think. Just make sure she keeps the area clean and dry and don't let her take a shower until tomorrow. No baths or swimming pools until her doctor checks it out and gives the okay. My nurse is setting up an appointment with Amy's regular doctor as we speak. Make sure she leaves the bandages in place until tomorrow morning unless they get dirty. If her fears do come true and she starts bleeding or anything, give us a call or bring her back in. I doubt that will happen, but there's a chance for anything."

"I'll take good care of her," Steve said, still amused at the doctor's assumption that he and Amy were family. He was also amused because having been through this before himself, he already knew enough about caring for gunshot wounds, but the doctor didn't know he was a cop just like the man didn't know he and Amy weren't a couple. He didn't feel like correcting anyone anyway. There were far worse things about Steve someone could assume.

"I'm sure you will," Dr. Warren said before shaking Steve's hand and telling him Amy was getting dressed and would be ready soon.

Steve chuckled as he ran his fingers through his hair. Maybe this charade was a sign, even though he hardly needed one. He wasn't sure about Amy though; she might need a little more convincing. He slowly wandered down the corridor toward Amy's room. Despite being her pretend husband, boyfriend, brother...who really knew...he wanted to make sure he gave her space to get ready. He stood outside her room and waited for her to come out on her own.

Soon a nurse came down the hall with papers in her hand. She knocked on Amy's door and entered when she heard Amy tell her to come in. The nurse disappeared into the room. Steve was still hesitant to go in. A minute later, the nurse popped her head out and asked if he was Steve. He told her he was. She indicated for him to come in. He put the leaflet in his inside jacket pocket and went in to Amy's room.

"I thought maybe you'd gone back to work," Amy said as he entered. "It would have been okay if you would have had to. I don't want to take you away from your job. I'd feel terrible if you got fired because of me."

Steve smiled but didn't say anything. Amy signed a couple of discharge papers, which the nurse took with her on her way out. Once the nurse was gone, Steve turned back to Amy.

"How long have we known each other?" he asked her.

Amy paused. "In days or in actual face time?"

"You pick."

Amy thought. "Well, in days, this is the third day. In face time, half an hour? Why?"

"You know what I've learned about you in that half hour?"

Amy frowned. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know the answer.

"You worry too much. If you want to worry about yourself, I can't stop you. And if you want to worry about me, I guess I can't really stop you either, but it's not necessary. Don't stress yourself out about my job. I feel pretty secure; I've managed to convince people they like me."

"I just don't want to be in anyone's way or anyone's burden," Amy said, picking up her bag of bloody clothes, complementary bandages, and pain relievers and heading to the door.

Steve followed behind her. "If you were being a burden, I'd tell you. Have you been a burden to a lot of people or something?" he asked, wondering why she'd even say such a thing.

The two walked into the corridor and to the elevators. Steve pushed the button to go down.

"No, not really. I don't know. I just hate having people mad at me." Amy hugged her bag of bloody clothes and stared at the elevator doors.

Steve realized this was likely to be a long and deep conversation, so he decided to hold off on the line of questioning and change the subject.

"Well, I was serious when I said I was still working. I came to give you an update on the case."

The elevator came and after two doctors got off, Amy and Steve stepped on. Steve pressed the button to go the lobby floor.

"Carl's case?" Amy asked as the doors closed.

"Yeah. Last time I was here I told you I was going to do some digging, but you were half asleep."

"What did you find out?"

"For starters, that there is an open investigation on you."

The elevator stopped at the third floor. The doors opened and let a group of five people on. Neither Steve nor Amy wanted to talk about murder in front of a bunch of strangers, so the rest of the ride down was quiet between the two. Amy stood by Steve, taking in what he said. She knew about the investigation; an inspector named Grabowski had talked to her once. It didn't really bother her at the time because Inspector Grabowski made it pretty clear that he thought the allegations were ridiculous. Now though, now that Steve knew, suddenly it bothered her a great deal. His colleague might have thought she was innocent, but did Steve? Amy couldn't bear to think that he thought she could do that. He'd said he didn't, but people say a lot of things without actually meaning them.

The elevator landed on the lobby floor and the seven people aboard got off. The group of five headed quickly to the doors. Amy and Steve walked slower. Steve could tell he'd hit some nerve in Amy with the mention of the case against her.

"You knew, I take it."

"Yeah. A guy named Grabowski came and talked to me last week."

The pair walked through the sliding glass doors and into the San Francisco sunshine. Amy winced at the brightness. Last time she was outside was the day she got shot and it had been cloudy and wet. Today was sunny and warm. Her eyes had trouble adjusting to the brightness. "Do you know him?" Amy asked.

"Sure. He's the one who told me about your case." Steve took Amy's arm and led her in the direction of his LTD. "I took it over"

Amy stopped walking. "_You_ are investigating me now?"

The look on Amy's face told Steve that the news was upsetting, but he wasn't sure why; he thought she'd be pleased. "What?" he asked, turning around to look at her.

Amy just stood there, silent. So many thoughts were running through her head that she couldn't make sense of any of them. Was his taking over the case a good or bad thing? Once the roulette wheel in her head stopped spinning, it landed on bad thing. "I thought you thought I was innocent," she finally said quietly.

Steve walked back to her, took her arm again, and without saying a word, led her to the car. Unlocking it, he set her down in the passenger's seat, taking her belongings and putting them in the back seat. He then walked around the back of the car to the driver's side, opening his door and getting in.

He turned to Amy, who was fighting back tears. "Let me tell you this once, and only once, because I will never change my mind about it. You are innocent. I am not going to find any evidence that says otherwise, am I?"

Amy, not the world's most positive or trusting person, shrugged her shoulders. "You might."

"What do you mean I might?" Steve asked, getting less sympathetic and more annoyed.

"I have no idea what you might find. Innocent people go to prison all the time because no matter how the detectives or the lawyers try to twist the evidence in their favor, it looks like they did the crime even when they didn't."

Steve just looked at her, not believing what she'd just said. "That's the most paranoid thing I've ever heard," he told her matter-of-factly.

Amy, fully aware that her anxiety tended to make her paranoid, still felt attacked. She turned to get out of the car.

Steve grabbed her arm to keep her there. "Look, there is nothing and never will be anything that will prove you killed anyone. Nothing. I fought to get assigned to your case because even though Grabowski also thought you were innocent, he wasn't doing much to make this whole thing go away. I managed to convince Mike that there was something else going on here besides just bad luck. It really didn't take much convincing though because after he saw the lack of evidence on you, he knew something else was going on also. I wanted this case because I feel so strongly that you're being dragged through hell for no good reason and I have to find out why." He looked her straight in the eyes. "We have to make you happy again."

Amy sat looking at Steve, processing everything he'd just said. Tears fell from her eyes, but this time, they weren't tears of fear or sadness. They were tears of relief. Just like the calm Steve had over her in the cemetery, he'd managed to do it again. She suddenly felt that with this man at her side, everything would be okay; he'd make sure of it.

"Thank you," she said in a voice that was barely audible.

Steve wiped the tears off her face with his right hand. "I want you to promise me something though."

"What?"

"You'll go a day without crying on me."

Amy smiled ever so slightly. "I can't make any promises."


	9. Chapter 9

_**If it weren't for Google Maps and Street View, I would have had trouble with this chapter. lol And as to the Mike request, he's in the next chapter!**_

Steve pulled out of the hospital parking lot and was about to pull onto Potrero Avenue when he realized he didn't actually know where he was going. He turned to Amy. "Where do you live?"

Amy chuckled. "An apartment in the 2200 block of Hyde, just south of Lombard."

"Really? I don't live too far from there," Steve said, pulling out and driving north.

"Where?" Amy asked.

"Union Street just past Montgomery."

Amy looked down at her lap, trying to picture the area. She then looked up and started tracing an invisible map in the air with her right index finger. "Union and Montgomery...Union doesn't go all the way through, does it?" Then she started reciting streets like she was a human road map. "Filbert turns into Kearney...Greenwich splits just east of Hyde...and Lombard…" She started laughing. "I tried driving that once. I guess I'm not a very daring person."

Steve chuckled. "It's really not as hard as it looks. Takes practice."

"Sure, says the professional driver." She paused. "I think I got lost on Union once. When I first moved here, I went out and started just driving around, getting used to the streets. I knew my way around Berkeley pretty well, but San Francisco was completely foreign. I kept trying to go the wrong way down all the one way streets. I tried to get from my apartment to The Embarcadero and I couldn't. All the streets stopped, including yours. I probably passed your place." She chuckled at the memory.

"Bay goes through, North Point goes through, Beach…"

"Well where were you when I was getting lost?" Amy teased.

"You should have just knocked on my door. I might have been home."

Amy just shook her head. She just bet he would have been home...with a girl most likely. He just seemed the type, another type she typically fell for.

"Where did you move here from?" he asked as he turned left onto 9th Street.

"Los Angeles. Born there, raised there, went to school there...got sick of there. So I applied to go to Berkeley for grad school and moved up here. My mom only let me go because she assumed it would be a temporary move, but it's not. Life up here hasn't been peaches and cream, but I still don't want to go back to LA."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

"Oh, and what's that?" Amy asked.

"We're both Berkeley grads."

"Really? I guess we do have something in common then." She sat for a second but realized she wasn't fond of the awkward silence. "You ever go to the Cal-Stanford game?" she asked to fill the void.

"A few times, yeah. That was always a wild time."

Amy started digging through her memory again. "The first year I was there, my roommate Rebecca dared me to join her in a skit that we performed right in the middle of campus. It was so mean-spirited, making fun of Stanford and all, but we did get quite a standing ovation." She laughed. "I'd never done anything like that before...or since."

"I would have paid to see that," Steve teased.

"It wouldn't have been worth your money." She turned her head and looked at Steve. "You protested a lot."

"Protested?"

"Yeah, like against the war, people dumping waste in the bay, stuff like that. You seem like someone with a strong opinion and you want people to see things your way. You're also very outgoing and get along with people well." She paused. "Just an observation."

"An accurate observation. I did get myself into quite a few demonstrations and protests. Fight the man, you know."

"Now you are the man. Irony at its finest." Amy leaned back in the seat and let her head fall over the back. "Although for my sake, I'm glad you are."

Steve smiled as he continued on his way to Amy's.

* * *

He pulled in front of the building Amy said was hers and parked the car along the curb. He quickly got out and ran around the front of the car to Amy's side. Amy had already started getting out of the car, but Steve helped her stand up and step onto the sidewalk. He then grabbed the stuff from the back seat and followed Amy into the building.

She walked past the elevators and to the door for the stairs.

"Wouldn't you rather take the elevator?" Steve asked her.

Amy shook her head. "They're too slow. Stairs are faster."

Steve shrugged and followed Amy to the stairwell and up three flights of stairs.

Arriving at her door, number 306, Amy tried opening the door, but it was locked. "I need my keys," she told Steve, who was carrying her stuff. He dug through the bag, pulled out her clutch, and handed it to her. She dug through it, found some keys, and attempted to unlock the door. The door unlatched, but then quickly relatched.

"Did your door just lock itself?" Steve asked, bewildered.

Amy unlocked it again and it locked itself again. She started pounding on the door. "Karen, stop locking the door! It's me."

There was no answer from the other side of the door.

"Who's Karen?" Steve asked.

"My cousin. She lives here with me. Dammit, Karen, open the fucking door!"

Steve was surprised to hear such language from a girl he'd painted as a sweet, innocent thing.

Amy tried unlocking the door one more time. This time it stayed unlocked. "Finally," Amy muttered, exasperated. She opened the door and walked into the foyer. To her left was the kitchen where suddenly someone lept out with a kitchen knife in their hand.

Amy and the knife-wielder both screamed but soon Amy realized it was Karen and Karen realized it was Amy.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Amy screamed at her startled younger cousin.

"I thought you were a burglar!"

"With keys?! What burglar has keys?" She turned around to see if Steve was still behind her or if he'd run away thinking they were both lunatics. He was standing in the doorway, simply watching the whole thing unfold. "Can you shoot her or arrest her or something?" Amy asked him.

Karen put the kitchen knife down on the counter and came fully into the foyer. "Shoot me?" she asked, worried both about getting shot and why this stranger could shoot her.

Amy calmed down slightly. "Karen, meet Inspector Steve Keller of the San Francisco Police Department. Steve, this knife-wielding moron is my cousin, Karen."

Amy walked forward and to the left into the living room. Steve, hesitant to come in, shook Karen's hand at the door.

"I'm really sorry. I suppose that didn't look too good to a cop. I'm really not an escapee from an asylum." Karen started walking into the living room and Steve felt safe enough to follow. "I've been up all night studying for this stupid psych exam, and I'm tired and jumpy."

Amy sat down on the couch gingerly. "Couldn't tell at all. I think I pulled something in my side." She put her hand over her wound.

Steve put her bag down on the living room floor and walked over to the couch where she sat. "Are you okay?"

She lifted up her shirt to look at the bandage. It was clean, so she put her shirt back down. "Yeah, I just haven't moved much lately. Guess I'll have to get used to that."

"I thought you were coming home later today. I was waiting for you to call," Karen told Amy.

"They let me go early, and Steve was already there, so he just brought me home." She looked at Steve. "You promise this isn't getting you in trouble?"

"Only if I don't go back with the information I came to get."

"Could anyone else use some coffee? I know I can," Karen announced. Both Amy and Steve agreed, so Karen disappeared into the kitchen to make coffee.

"What information is that?" Amy asked.

"About all the other people who died - the ones you were telling me about the other day."

"Ah. Let me see if I can figure you out. You, and your partner I guess, think it's not just me being some sort of death jinx."

Steve nodded and sat down on the sofa.

"You two are homicide inspectors, right?"

Steve nodded again.

"So…" she paused. "You think all these weird accidents are actually murders?"

"That's what we think."

"Which means there is someone...or someones...out there killing people, who all just happen to be connected to me."

Steve didn't say anything.

"Yet you don't think I did it. You don't have any other link, so how could you _not_ think I had a hand in this?"

"That's what Mike and I are going to find out. We'll dig into all those other so-called accidents and see if there is anything there that points to someone else. I just need to know who they are and what you know about their death."

Amy wasn't fully convinced, but agreed to give Steve the information he sought anyway. She sat back on the couch and got comfortable. "Like I told you, the first one was my dad. His name is Glen, Glen Johnson. The Thousand Oaks Police are the ones who investigated that."

Steve pulled a notebook out of his jacket pocket and began writing down what Amy was telling him.

"They asked my mom and me, after the autopsy, if we knew where or when he'd hit his head, but it was news to both of us. One night I even started looking around the house to see if there was a spot that looked like someone hit their head pretty hard. You know, maybe even some leftover blood. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. The cops down there didn't really investigate much; they ruled it an accident almost immediately. We had no reason to think otherwise."

"Where else might he have been in the days prior?" Steve asked.

"His office for sure." She sat for a bit, thinking, then shrugged. "I guess I don't really know. He mostly went to work and came home. He was a homebody and a workaholic."

"What did he do?"

"Lawyer, a corporate one."

Steve wrote some more in his notebook. "Who was next?"

"Darren...um...Oberlander, yeah that was his name, Darren Oberlander. He was in one of my psych classes my first semester at Berkeley. We became friends because we were both from the LA area. We were also both going for the same degree, so we had a lot in common."

"Did you spend a lot of time together?"

"I suppose. How much time did you ever spend with a platonic female friend in college?" Amy asked him.

Steve thought for a second. "I suppose enough to make people think we were something more."

Amy nodded. "Only thing they didn't realize is that he was gay. Anyway, after that first semester, I went home for Christmas and he stayed up here with some relatives who lived in the Sunset District. I came back to school and learned that he'd been killed in a hit and run the day after Christmas."

"Did the investigators ever find the driver?"

"Not that I heard. It was apparently odd though. I heard, through gossip, that he was the only one on the road at two in the morning. He was coming home from some all-night diner or deli on Taraval and this car comes off 28th Avenue completely out of nowhere, plowing right into the driver's door."

Steve gave her a puzzled look. This was getting more and more interesting and bizarre with each new person. "December of...?"

"Seventy-one. Next was Brenda," Amy said, with obvious disdain in her voice.

"Brenda?" Steve repeated, trying to emulate the disdain.

"Brenda Mason. It seems that no matter where I ever was, there was always that one person who couldn't stand me, even though I never gave them a reason. At Berkeley, it was Brenda. We all lived in a house that had been converted to apartments. There were four units in our house. My roommate Rebecca and I lived in one of them, and Brenda lived down the hall. Everyone in the place went to Berkeley, though I have no idea how _she_ got in. She was just a junior, while Rebecca and I were in grad school. I swear, she spent all her time drinking and screwing a new guy every night. Here I was, spending thousands of dollars to get a Master's degree; sometimes I needed quiet, but no, she didn't care. She was a trust fund baby blowing through daddy's money, and she didn't care who she bothered. She was only going to school because her parents made her."

"Mason...there is a pretty wealthy family in Berkeley named Mason. I wonder if she's related," Steve said.

"Probably. I never really mentioned to her much that I needed quiet to study and that I didn't appreciate hearing her and her...whoever...at night, but she was always hassling me. Since we lived in a building owned by the university, I filed a complaint against her. I came home and found half the things I owned on the front lawn; she'd thrown them out the window."

"Classy."

"Two nights later, it was surprisingly quiet. It was a relief, but then I started wondering why it was so quiet. I went to her place and found her passed out on the floor. I called the police and they said it looked like an overdose. There was cocaine on her kitchen table."

"When was this?"

Amy thought for a second. "Spring of 72, I think. March, April...I don't really remember." She leaned over to see what Steve was writing. "I'm giving you a novel."

Steve smiled. "Sure seems that way. I have a feeling I'm going to be busy digging through old files and making phone calls."

Amy sat back. "Sorry. I bet you regret being in that cemetery when you were. I wouldn't have gotten stuck with this chick if I'd been somewhere else," Amy muttered, pretending to be Steve.

Steve gave her a disgruntled look. "That's crap. Don't ever say it again."

At that moment, Karen came into the room with three cups of coffee. "Is black okay?" she asked Steve.

"That's fine," he said, taking a cup from Karen.

Karen then handed a cup to Amy and sat down on a chair across from the sofa the other two were sitting on. "Word to the wise, Inspector. This one is a constant pity party. Give her a chance and she'll put herself down like no one you've ever seen."

Amy gave Karen a glare that could have killed her.

"What?" Karen asked. "I'm just being honest. You're much too hard on yourself."

"That I'd agree with," Steve said.

Amy set her coffee cup on an end table and stood up. "I think I'll go take a nap," she muttered, trying not to start crying for the tenth time that day.

Steve stood up and blocked her way. "Hey, don't be that way. I get it; you've been through a lot and your self-esteem is pretty low right now. We'll work on it."

Karen looked at the two of them looking at each other and knew there was something else going on besides a murder investigation. She smiled as she took a drink from her cup.

"We still have some more people, don't we? Sit down," Steve said, turning Amy around and guiding her back to the couch.

She sat down. "Next was the food poisoning guy, Shawn...something."

"Denne," Karen said. "D-E-N-N-E. That guy was an ass."

"He was. I was speaking at a conference on child abuse and he was in the audience. Apparently he became so enamored by me that he started asking around about me. A friend of mine hands me this piece of paper that says he's never done something like this before, but he found me beautiful and interesting and would love to meet me. And for some reason, I bought it."

"Bought that someone could find you beautiful and interesting? I can't imagine someone thinking that," Steve said, giving Amy a sly smirk. Karen bit her tongue but chuckled on the inside.

"No, smart ass. I mean that I actually called the guy. I have no idea why."

"Desperation," Karen said matter-of-factly.

Amy shook her head. Here were the jabs at her again.

"So what happened?" Steve asked quickly, not wanting Amy to get up and try to leave again.

"We went out a couple times. I wasn't really that interested in him and I guess he picked up on it, because after the second date, he started being a total jerk to me. He even called me a skanky prude in public. What the hell does that even mean? It's a total oxymoron."

"He was an oxymoron," Karen said, trying to be funny with a play on words.

"I'm sorry this guy is already dead," Steve said, then shook his head thinking a police officer probably shouldn't say things like that.

"Anyway, a couple weeks later I hear that he died from food poisoning. It was just, odd."

"It could still be murder, though I've never seen a 'death-by-spoiled-food' case in my time. Anyone else?"

"Shannon Whitney, last November. She and I were both up for an internship position at a home for troubled kids. I really wanted the job, and Carl pushed hard to get me in, but in the end they picked Shannon even though she was much less qualified than me. I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me."

"Like so-depressed-she-couldn't-get-out-of-bed bothered her," Karen interjected.

Amy shrugged. "I just couldn't see where I was going to go without that internship. So I'm pessimistic. She was nice about it though. She even invited me to her celebration. Like I wanted to celebrate her getting a job I wanted. The party was at some bar on California Street. She fell down the stairs that went down to the club under the bar. I believe that was ruled an accident due to intoxication. Made sense. It was close to closing time I think. The party started at 8, so she could have been pretty gone by then. Last one was Carl." Amy laid her head on the couch.

Steve finished up his notes and blew out a breath. "I'm going to be busy for sure." He sat looking at the notes for awhile.

"What are you thinking?" Amy asked.

"I'm looking for a pattern."

Amy sat up and looked over Steve's shoulder at his notes. "There is no pattern. None of the accidents were the same, they were all over town."

"Did they know each other? Was there someone who knew all of them?" Steve inquired.

"Besides me? I have no idea."

"There might be one," Karen said.

Both Amy and Steve looked at her. "Really?" Steve asked.

"I don't know if he knew everyone, but I'm sure he at least knew of them."

"Who are you talking about?" Amy asked.

"Paul Carpenter."

"What? Oh, that's ridiculous! How would he have known all these people? Dad, yes, but the rest?" Amy scoffed.

"Who's Paul Carpenter?" Steve asked.

"A guy I've known since we were eight. He used to live next door to my parents and me."

"He's a weirdo," Karen added.

"He's not a weirdo. He's just...unique. A bit high-strung, maybe a bit confrontational at times, but he's not a killer!"

"A high-strung, confrontation weirdo can't turn into a killer?" Karen looked at Steve. "You know what I saw him do once? He sat on the sidewalk in front of his house with a magnifying glass killing ants."

Amy rolled her eyes. "A lot of kids do that! Plus, I doubt it really works. How can you get an ant to stand still long enough to fry them anyway?" She too looked at Steve. "I bet you did things like that as a kid too. Boys do stuff like that."

Steve didn't have time to say anything before Karen started up again. "Killing innocent creatures is something boys do?"

"Says the girl who steps on spiders when they're outside minding their own business! Besides, Paul lives in LA." Amy didn't dare mention the fact that he was in town now, though she didn't see why it mattered. He hadn't been in town for any of the accidents.

"Finally flunked out for good, huh?" Karen said.

Steve had had enough of the cat fight, so he stood up and put his notes back in his jacket. "This will give us a good start."

Amy and Karen both stood up as well. Amy ran ahead to the front door. "Tell your partner...Mike?"

"Yeah."

"Tell him I'm sorry for keeping you so long. He's probably wondering where you've been."

"There you go again, worry about my job. If I get back to the station and someone else is in my desk, I'll come back and let you know."

"Sure, make me feel bad," Amy said, opening the door.

Steve looked at her. "Never," was all he said.

Amy smiled shyly and clung to the door.

Steve then turned to Karen. "Thanks for the coffee. If you ever need a part time job, you could come down to the station and make coffee, because the stuff there is…" he trailed off and made a face.

Karen laughed. "Put in a good word for me. I need all the money I can get."

Steve walked out the door but turned back to Amy. "Get some rest. I'll call you later."

"About the case? I don't know what else I can tell you."

"Not necessarily." He smiled and walked down the hall toward the stairs.

"You better call or I'll be on your case!" Karen shouted out into the hallway.

Amy was mortified. "Oh my God!" She quickly turned around and shoved her cousin back in the apartment and quickly slammed the door. Steve laughed as her opened the door to the stairwell.


	10. Chapter 10

"Well, look who it is!" Mike said, looking up from his paperwork. He got up off his chair and walked out of his office into the squadroom. "What was your name again? It's been so long that I can't remember. Steve, was it?" he teased his partner.

Steve rolled his eyes. "I wasn't gone that long! She was getting released when I got there, so I just took her home."

Mike gave him a curious, yet light-hearted look. "Community relations, right?"

"Yeah. I got names though, several of them."

Mike walked back into this office; Steve followed him. He pulled out the notebook and sat down in the chair in front of Mike's desk. "Six people in all." He handed Mike the list.

Mike sat down, put on his glasses, and looked it over.

"We're going to be doing a lot of calling around," Steve said. "There has to be something linking all these people, but I have no idea what it could be."

"It's early; if it's there, it will surface soon enough."

"Did you get Janice Duncan's bank records?" Steve asked Mike.

"Yeah, and they're very interesting." He handed a stack of papers to Steve. "Carl and Janice had separate accounts, but they each tell a similar tale. There are several large amounts of cash going both in and out, one was right before the day he died."

"I don't suppose we know where all this money came from or went?"

Mike shook his head. "All done in cash."

"What do you suppose is being covered up?" Steve asked suspiciously.

Mike stood back up. "I'm kind of curious to find out. What do you say we pay the grieving widow a visit?"

Steve stood up as well. "I can't wait," he said, completely unconvincing. He'd seen this woman once and that was enough.

* * *

Steve pulled the car up to a gated mansion in Sea Cliff. "Being a college professor must pay better than I thought," Mike said, looking up at the house through the windshield.

Steve pushed a button on the speaker outside the gate and waited. Someone answered and Steve told the person who they were and why they were there. The gate promptly opened and Steve drove in, parking the car in front of the front door.

The pair got out and approached the door. "Keep your cool," Mike told Steve.

Steve looked at his partner. "What do you mean, 'Keep your cool?' I always keep my cool."

"Just...keep your cool." Mike knew if Janice said anything derogatory about Amy, Steve wouldn't handle it well, even of the topic had not come up in the past.

Steve couldn't believe Mike was giving him reminders like a little kid, but the front door opened before he had a chance to further protest.

"Gentlemen, please come inside," an older lady in a maid's uniform said. Both men walked in and stood in the elaborately decorated foyer. "Mrs. Duncan will be with you shortly." The maid excused herself, leaving the men to peruse their surroundings.

"Interesting and rather expensive taste," Mike observed.

"I was thinking of using the word gaudy," Steve replied.

Just then, Janice came down the stairs. "My maid tells me you two are with the San Francisco police."

Mike took out his badge and showed her. "Yes, ma'am. I'm Lieutenant Stone and this is Inspector Keller. We wanted to ask you some questions about your husband."

"What happened to that other inspector? Actually, who cares. He never listened anyway. I tried telling him our nanny was responsible, but he simply would not listen."

Mike shot Steve a quick glance, saying '"I told you" with his eyes. Steve kicked at the ground with the tip of his shoe.

"What would you like to know? I already told that other idiot everything."

Now Mike was getting irritated with this woman, and he'd only been talking to her for thirty seconds. "Well, why don't you tell me anyway?"

Janice led the two into another room where they all sat down. "That night. I'll never forget it as long as I live. I came home at probably 10, maybe 11. I hear yelling coming from Carl's office. I run in there and find Amy giving my husband CPR. I yell at her to get away from him, but she won't move. She says she found him passed out in his chair and she couldn't revive him. I pushed her out of the way and started CPR myself; she was probably doing it all wrong."

Steve rolled his eyes.

"The paramedics came and they could not revive him either. They just...gave up. How could they just give up? It's not like my husband was just some street person; he was an important man!"

Mike and Steve gave each other a look of disdain for this shallow, heartless woman.

"So you came home and found your nanny, Amy, giving your husband CPR. What made you think she caused his death?" Mike asked, seeing no correlation.

"No one else was around! She's the one who found him! He wouldn't just have a heart attack! She had to have done something to cause that. I know for a fact that she was constantly flirting with him, trying to get in his pants. She probably gave him something to kill him, get all our money."

Steve had heard just about enough inane garbage when Jasmine peeked her head around the corner. He noticed her and she noticed him.

Mike, doing his best to ignore accusations that he felt were baseless, pushed Janice further. "And what might she have given him?"

"You know what he was supposedly drinking when I found him? Tea. Hot tea."

Steve stifled a laugh. Mike, expecting something much more sinister than tea, just shook his head. This woman was the worst witness he'd ever had to interview.

"He never drank tea. She must have put something in it and forced it down his throat."

"Daddy drank tea a lot," Jasmine said, getting the courage to see what was going on. She walked into the room.

"Jasmine! I thought I told you to stay in your room! We are having a conversation and you are not a part of it," Janice snapped at her daughter.

Completely ignoring her mother, Jasmine walked over to Steve. "I've seen you before," she told him.

"Oh yeah?" Steve said, even though he too had seen her.

"Do you want to see my doll collection?" she asked.

"Sure," Steve said, grateful for a reason to get out of this horrible interview.

"Jasmine," her mother said in an angry, authoritative tone.

"It's okay," Steve said. "I'll be right back."

Jasmine took Steve's hand and led him out of the room. Mike gave him a look that said, _How dare you leave me alone with this woman_. Steve just shrugged and walked out of the room.

Mike went immediately back to his questioning, hoping he could get this over with sooner rather than later. "Where were you prior to arriving at home and finding your husband?"

Janice glared at Mike. "What does that matter?"

"I always check for alibis."

"Are you accusing me of killing my own husband?"

"Not at all. But if this truly is a murder, I need to know where everyone involved was and what they were doing."

"I was out," Janice said curtly.

"Out? Well, that can certainly mean a lot of things, Mrs. Duncan. Care to tell me just exactly what you were doing "out"?" Mike asked. He was going to get something out of this woman regardless of what she thought. No one hid things from Mike Stone for too long.

"I was with a friend," was all she said.

Mike just gave her a look.

"I was having dinner with our accountant. I've been considering making some investments and he was helping me."

_Dinner with an accountant until 10. Interesting_, Mike thought. "Funny that you would bring up your accountant," he said instead. "Have you or your husband come into any money recently, or have you been having money problems?"

Janice laughed. "Look around, Lieutenant! Does it look like we're having money troubles? Why would you even ask such a thing?"

"There have been quite a few large deposits and withdrawals to your bank account recently. Has the money all gone to home decor?"

Janice folded her arms over her chest. "I see what you're doing. Just because I happen to have money, there must be some motivation there to have my husband killed. Well, you certainly won't find any reason for me to kill him. His job kept me living like this." She put her hands up and waved them around the room like she was modeling products. "Without that, where would I be?" she asked smugly. "If you want to know about my money, you'll have to ask my accountant. I have no idea what Carl did with his money if it wasn't spent on me. It probably ended up in Amy's bank account. I'm sure she found a way to squeeze money out of my husband. Since you seem good at looking into people's private affairs, I'm sure it won't be any trouble for you."

Realizing he was not going to get anything valuable out of this woman, Mike went in another direction. "I'd like to see Carl's office, see where he died. Perhaps Grabowski missed something when he looked around."

"He probably did." Janice waved her hand for Mike to follow her down the hall. On the way, he made sure to note all the expensive paintings and sculptures that adorned the corridor. They reached Carl's office, and Mike found it odd. As elaborately decorated as the rest of the house was, this room was almost bare. No paintings or sculptures, no fancy areas rugs or antique furniture. All the decor was limited to books on shelves and a wooden desk that looked like it had seen better days. There was a ratty recliner in the corner opposite the desk. Mike wondered how a simple man like Carl had put up with someone like Janice, but then he thought, maybe he didn't. He walked further into the room and saw that there was a silver serving tray on the desk, complete with a tea cup and a box of tea bags.

"Did you leave this room exactly like it was the night Carl died?" Mike asked, wondering if this was the same tea service Carl had been drinking.

"I can't bear to clean it up. I can't really even stand being in here now. If you don't mind…" Janice started, but was soon interrupted by Mike.

"Actually, could you walk me through that night? How you found him, what you did, where Amy was."

Janice was visibly annoyed with his request. "Must I?"

"It would certainly help me figure this out a lot quicker. You would like to put this whole thing to rest, wouldn't you?"

Janice sighed and started to run through the entire ordeal again.

* * *

Jasmine held onto Steve's hand all the way up the winding staircase and down a long hallway to her room. When they got to her door, she looked up at Steve and said, "Daddy really did drink a lot of tea. He said it was good for you. I thought it was icky."

Steve smiled. He had a feeling this could turn out to be a very fruitful conversation.

Jasmine led him into her room and told him to sit on the bed. He bent down and sat on her very small twin bed that was adorned with pink and white sheets and a lacy canopy. He thought that if he'd ever get married and have a little girl, he'd probably be doing this kind of thing on a daily basis, a fact that he was surprisingly okay with.

Jasmine grabbed a toy chest and dragged it over to where Steve was sitting. "I keep all my important stuff in here," she told him. She opened the chest and instead of pulling out a doll, she pulled out a picture frame. "I remember seeing you at Daddy's funeral," she told him. "You were watching my mom yell at Amy."

"Yeah, I was."

"What's your name?"

"Steve. And your name is Jasmine, right?"

She nodded. "Are you Amy's friend?"

"I am. I know she misses seeing you." The topic had never come up, but after witnessing the display at the cemetery, he assumed she did.

Jasmine sat on the bed next to Steve and showed him the picture. It was a picture of her and Amy standing in front of the fountain in Ghirardelli Square. Both were smiling and obviously happy in the moment. "She used to take me fun places that Mom doesn't. She always says she's too busy to take me anywhere."

"Too busy? Doing what?" Steve asked her, mesmerized by the sight of a smiling Amy.

Jasmine shrugged. "She's always at the country club or kissing Norman."

Steve looked at her, surprised by what she said. "Kissing Norman? Who is Norman?"

"I don't know. He's here a lot. He always has a suit on. One night I snuck downstairs when I wasn't supposed to because I wanted a piece of cake. I saw lights outside so I went to the front door and looked out the window next to it. Mom and Norman were standing by his car kissing each other. I thought moms were only supposed to kiss daddies."

"They should," Steve answered, now trying to make sense of what he'd just learned. "Did you ever tell Amy about what you saw?"

"No. I tried a couple times, but she usually told me it was not nice to spy on people. It's fun though! You get a glass like this," she explained, taking an empty glass off her nightstand and showing it to Steve. "Then you put it up to a door." She ran over to the bedroom door, shut it, and demonstrated. "The open end goes on the door. You can hear what's going on in the other room!"

Steve got off the bed and walked over to where Jasmine was standing. "Really? Maybe I should use that for my job. I bet I could find out a lot of things people don't tell me."

Jasmine smiled and handed Steve the glass. "Try it."

Steve put the glass up to the door and heard nothing but air. "Wow, you can hear things, can't you?" He wasn't about to tell her the truth. "You spy on a lot of people?"

Jasmine nodded. "I'm going to be a spy when I grow up. Can you be a spy for the police?"

Steve had to chuckle. He had had times in his career when he was nothing more than a spy, lying in wait for a criminal to show up and do something illegal, or listening in on a conversation to get the goods on someone. However, that was nothing he'd want to tell a little girl about. "Sometimes we do need spies. But you have to be a little older."

Jasmine frowned, then seconds later smiled again. "That will give me time to practice."

"Good idea," Steve told her as he handed her the glass.

"Is Amy helping you solve a mystery? Is she working for the police now?"

Steve didn't exactly know how to approach this one. "In a way, yeah," was all he said.

"That's good. Do you think after she's done she'll be able to be my nanny again?"

Seeing the likelihood of that being slim to none, Steve simply shrugged. "I don't know."

"We used to play princess and queen. She was the queen and I was the princess." The little girl leapt up and ran to her closet. There, she grabbed a pink pointed hat that had pink and white chiffon streamers coming out of the top. She also grabbed a pink fairy wand and a gold crown and ran back to Steve. She promptly put the crown on his head. "You could be the king!" she announced excitedly.

"I'm the king?"

"Come, sit on your royal throne!" Jasmine took his hand and led him over to a small chair in the corner of her room. He sat down but wondered how long this tiny chair would hold up. "Wait, I must get your royal cape!" Jasmine then said in an exalted tone. She ran back to her closet.

Steve laughed to himself and wondered what he'd gotten himself into. He also had a greater appreciation for Amy if she had to do this every day.

* * *

What seemed like hours later, Mike appeared at Jasmine's door and saw his partner having high tea with a princess. By then he was in full king garb, complete with a crown, a robe, and a plastic sword. It took everything Mike had not to laugh out loud.

"I, uh, hate to interrupt your highness' tea, but we should be getting back to the palace," Mike told him, stifling laughs the whole time.

Steve shot him a look.

"Although, perhaps I could call the royal photographer and have him come by to take a few official portraits first."

"You wouldn't dare," Steve said, standing up.

Jasmine also stood up and ran over to Mike. "Doesn't he make an elegant king?"

Mike knelt down to the the girl. "The most elegant king I have ever seen. I think he should always wear that to work." He grinned devilishly at his partner.

Steve quickly pulled the crown and other garb off and laid them on Jasmine's bed. "You're just jealous," he told Mike, fixing his crown-hair. He walked to the door.

Jasmine looked up at him. "Steve, can you come play with me again? You're the best king ever."

He knelt down to Jasmine. "I don't know, maybe. Thank you for the tea though; it was excellent."

"Just like Amy made for Daddy." She then went to her toy chest and pulled out a stuffed gray rabbit. She brought it over to Steve, who had stood back up. "If you see Amy, will you give her this? He's lonely without her."

Steve took the bunny. "I will. I bet he'll be happy to see her."

Jasmine then gave Steve's legs a big hug. She looked up and him and said, "You and Amy would make a good king and queen." She grinned.

Steve smiled back down at her. "I bet you're right."

The maid came to the door. "Jasmine, it is time for your piano lesson. Do get that hat off and come downstairs." She then looked at Mike and Steve. "May I show you gentlemen out?"

Mike nodded and he and Steve followed the maid down the hall. Steve quickly glanced back and saw Jasmine standing at the doorway watching them leave. She waved and he waved back.

Once outside, Mike ran ahead of Steve to the car. He went to the driver's side and opened the door.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked.

"I can't possibly allow the King of California to open his own car doors. Do I also need to bow? I'm new and not familiar with the customs yet."

Steve simply shook his head. He wasn't going to live this one down for quite awhile. "Do you mean to tell me that if I went through your family photo albums, I wouldn't find some of you playing dress up with Jeannie?"

"Not a one."

"Really?" Steve said, doubtful.

"Nope, because I wouldn't let you see the photo albums."

Steve chuckled and got in the car. Mike closed the driver's door before walking around the front of the car to the passenger's side. Steve set the rabbit right next to him. As Mike got in the car, Steve noticed he was carrying a plastic bag.

"What's that?" he asked, starting the car.

"Carl's office was left just the way it was the night he died, including the box of questionable tea that was sitting on his desk. If there really is anything funny about it, we'll find out."

"Jasmine said her father always drank tea. I don't understand why Janice would lie about that," Steve said, pulling the car through the front gate out onto the street. "Although her affair might have something to do with it. Who knows."

Mike looked at Steve. "Affair?"

"Her daughter claims she saw her mother kissing a man named Norman in the driveway one night. Maybe she wanted to get rid of her husband before, or because, he found out."

"I wonder if their accountant's name is Norman. That would clear up some things. Let's get this tea back to the boys in the lab, find out if it really is just tea. Then maybe we'll track down this Norman fellow, see what he has to say."

Steve drove on toward the station with a gray stuffed rabbit as his co-pilot.


	11. Chapter 11

Amy laid on the couch, half watching an episode of The Odd Couple on TV. She was tired and wanted to sleep, but every time she would close her eyes, either a pain would wake her up or a memory would. She'd flash back to the cemetery or to the night Carl died. She'd hear Janice yelling at her or the shouts of the paramedics at the scene. It was all unnerving and Amy would have to open her eyes in an attempt to calm herself down. She'd paced the room several times already, trying to get rid of the nervous energy, but it hadn't worked. She thought watching some TV might distract her enough, but that wasn't working so well either. Her next step was popping Valium and forcing herself to sleep, but she hated relying on that. Her goal was always to try and beat the fear on her own, but that was not a tactic that had a 100% success rate; in fact, it was closer to 0%.

So instead of worrying about physical pain or flashbacks, Amy started worrying about whether or not to swallow a pill. Then she got mad at herself for worrying about any of it and punched a pillow. "You're a worthless idiot," she said out loud.

There was a knock at her door. Amy slowly sat up and debated even getting the door. She wasn't expecting anyone, so she wasn't sure if opening the door was even a good idea. _I could pretend nobody's home and hope they just go away_, she thought, but then realized that the person could probably see lights coming from under the door, so she reluctantly stood up and walked quietly to the foyer She got on her tiptoes and looked through the peephole. Her eye was met with a pleasant surprise.

Quickly unlocking the door, she opened it and said, "I thought you were going to call."

Steve stood leaning against the door frame, one hand behind his back. "I was, but I just had to tell you all about my day in person."

"What happened?" Amy asked, genuinely concerned.

"Well, it started at work just like any other day, but then I ended up spending an hour or so at the hospital. Depressing, maybe, but then I almost got attacked by a crazy woman with a knife."

Amy laughed. "You're safe now; she's at work. And I hid the knives."

"That's a relief! Then this afternoon, I end up having to talk to the world's most…" He paused. "I don't even know how to say it. A truly impossible woman with horrible taste in home decor."

Amy looked back at her apartment. Thinking he was referring to her, she wondered what in her place was so ugly. Sure, it was closer to thrift store chic than anything, but it looked okay.

"You want to know the best part though?"

Amy wasn't sure she did.

"I got to play king for a day and have tea with a princess."

Now Amy was just confused. "Are you drunk?" she asked hesitantly.

"No, I'm being serious. I had a crown and everything. Mike saw it...and ribbed me about it for the rest of the day. Her highness did give me something to give to you though." From behind his back he pulled out the gray bunny and handed it to Amy.

She was shocked. "Mr. Sniffles!" She grabbed the bunny from Steve and gave him a hug.

"Who?" Steve asked, trying not to laugh at the sight of a grown woman getting excited about a stuffed toy.

Amy waved Steve into the apartment. "You were at Duncan's House of Horrors?"

"Appropriate name." Steve closed the door behind him and followed Amy into the living room.

"This is Mr. Sniffles. I gave him to Jasmine a couple months ago when she had this cold that would not seem to go away. It was something to comfort her."

"She certainly had plenty of toys and dolls."

"Bribery in the place of good parenting. Anyway, she named him Mr. Sniffles because he apparently sniffled right along with her. How do you have him?" She then got a look of shock on her face. "Wait a minute. You said you were a king and had tea with a princess. You played Royal Tea Party with Jasmine? Oh, now _that_ I would have paid to see. It would have been worth every penny, too."

"It has an official name, huh?" He sat down on the couch and Amy sat down next to him. "Well, it is about time someone realized how important I am."

Amy smiled. "Sure. Why were over there?"

"Mike and I went to talk to Janice about the night Carl died. Jasmine probably saved me from punching that woman in the face."

"Was she still going on about how I killed him?"

"Same song and dance. I couldn't listen to it any longer, so when Jasmine asked if I wanted to see her doll collection, I took her up on the invitation. She did give me some interesting insight though."

"Jasmine did? She's six; how much could she know?"

"Oh, but she wants to be a spy when she grows up. She already has her glass for listening at doors and walls."

Amy rolled her eyes. "That girl, always trying to spy on people. I guess I really didn't mind, but I was afraid her mother would find out and ground her for life. Are you telling me she overheard something pertinent to the case?"

"She did."

"And she told you?"

Steve nodded.

Amy looked at him. "Have you ever played telephone?"

"Does calling girls on the telephone count?" Steve asked slyly.

"Hardly. No, it's when you get a bunch of people either in a circle or in a row. One person starts by whispering something into the person next to them's ear, then that person whispers what they heard into the next person's ear, and so on around the circle or down the line. That last person then says what they heard out loud. Nine times out of ten, it's not even close to what the first person said. Like, the first person said, 'My dog has fleas.' The last person will say something like, 'There's a monkey in the refrigerator.' Not even close. That's what getting secrets Jasmine overheard is like. She hears something, but it comes out her mouth something else."

"What do you know about their accountant?" Steve asked. A call to a number Janice had given Mike told the pair that the mysterious Norman and the accountant were the same person.

"Norman? Isn't that a good accountant name, Norman?" Amy chuckled. "Not much. He did seem to hang around the house an awful lot after regular business hours, but then maybe that's something accountants do. I tried not to get involved in anything that didn't relate to me. Why?"

"That name came up in my talk with Jasmine."

"Norman? Don't tell me she heard him plotting Carl's murder or something."

"No. Did she ever tell you the things she overheard?"

"Oh, she tried, all the time, but I didn't want to hear it. At the beginning I listened, and frankly, most of it sounded made up. Eventually I told her she shouldn't be telling secrets or listening to conversations that didn't involve her. She kept trying until I told her that good spies write down what they hear so they don't forget it. She ended up writing everything down in a journal."

"Really? Everything she heard in that house?"

"Mmm hmm. What are you getting at?" Amy asked.

"That maybe she heard something in that house at one time or another that might point to murder."

Amy looked at Steve almost like she pitied him. "You do know she's six, right? She's a smart girl, but six year olds aren't the most proficient writers. And like I said before, most of it is probably either misheard or plain made up. Seems like a stretch."

"Wouldn't you rather I stretch than not look into every angle I can? Would you rather I just arrest you?"

Amy looked down at her lap. "You're right; I'm sorry." She started playing with Mr. Sniffles' ears.

"How can we get the journal without going back to the house?" Steve asked. "I'd prefer never to go back there again, although I do have a standing invitation to tea with the princess any time."

Amy looked back up at Steve and smiled. "Lord Keller of the Kingdom of San Francisco."

"Oh, now Mike said I was the king of all of California. You gave me a demotion."

"Ohhh, sorry, M'Lord. I shall know better next time, if there is a next time."

Steve put his hand on her shoulder. "There better be."

The two looked at each other without saying a word for what seemed like an eternity, until Steve finally cleared his throat and asked, "Is there another way we could get ahold of that journal? Is she ever anywhere in town without her mother?"

"She's never _with_ her mother. Why else would a woman who has no job need someone to watch her child?"

"She did tell me Janice is always at the country club."

"Rubbing elbows with all the blue bloods, each one trying to top the other with how wealthy and important they are. It's disgusting."

"Okay, so where could we find Jasmine during the day?" Steve asked.

"We? Well, _you_ could find her at school. She has dance on Mondays and Wednesdays. Brownies is every Tuesday."

"Why just me?"

"Because Janice has a restraining order against me, that's why. I can't get within like, a hundred feet of Jasmine or you'll have to arrest me. She took it out the same day as the funeral."

Steve shook his head. "That woman really is delusional, isn't she? I mean, you being a threat is ridiculous."

Amy shrugged. "Thanks for thinking so, I guess, but it doesn't invalidate the order. She'll talk to you though, especially now that she has a king to drink tea with." She smiled at Steve and then changed the subject. "I didn't offer you anything, coffee, something to eat...do you want anything?"

"No, no, I'm fine. I didn't come here so you could feed me."

Amy stood up. "I know, but good hostesses always offer their guests refreshments. Besides, I'm thirsty."

Steve stood up and offered to help her. He followed her into the kitchen where she got a glass out of the cabinet. She then got into the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of Dr. Pepper.

Steve grabbed the bottle from her. "Do you have a bottle opener?

Amy nodded and opened a small drawer under the counter. "Thanks. You've obviously seen me try to get those things off."

"You ever get one off without bending it?" Steve asked her.

"That's impossible."

"Prepare to be impressed." He got into his pants pocket and pulled out a quarter. He set the quarter on top of the cap. He then put the triangular-shaped opener around the cap, with one part on the quarter and two parts underneath the cap. He then slowly pulled up on the opener and the cap came off and, along with the quarter, fell to the counter.

Amy watched in awe. She picked the cap up off the counter and looked it over. There was not a single dent on it. "I didn't think this was possible. Is this the kind of stuff they teach you in the police academy?"

Steve laughed. "No, regular college. And I practiced with more beer bottles than anything."

"Figures." Amy took the bottle and poured half into the glass. She handed the rest of the bottle to Steve. "Drink it."

"Thanks." He stood at the counter and took a drink. He then leaned over the counter and looked at Amy. "I almost hate to ask you this, but would you run through that night?"

"The night Carl died?" Amy asked softly.

Steve nodded. "I know it's probably hard, but…"

"No, it's fine," Amy interrupted. "You're only asking to solve the case." She took a drink, then began running through the scene. "I had to take Jasmine to dance that night. Dance class ends at eight, but she wanted ice cream, and I had promised her some for practicing hard at the piano. We got home about nine. I walked by Carl's office and saw he was on the phone, so I didn't bother to tell him we were home. It looked like a pretty intense conversation too."

"Was that a normal thing?" Steve asked.

"Depended. He had a hand in a youth shelter and things would go wrong there occasionally. I had see him getting stern with people over the phone. This was different though. This conversation was very quiet, like he only wanted the person on the other end to hear." Amy paused, thinking about it for a second, then went on. "Anyway, I took Jasmine upstairs, started a bath for her, picked up her bedroom while she was bathing so that her mom wouldn't come home and wake her up to yell at her to clean her room…" She stopped her story when she saw the look Steve was giving her. "Yes, she'd done that before."

Steve just shook his head and took another drink. He kind of hoped it was something stronger than soda; he'd need it to listen to anything more about Janice Duncan.

"Jasmine got out of the bathroom, and I put her to bed. I had to read her a couple stories before she'd even close her eyes. Lights out was around ten. I remember, because I was glad Janice wasn't home yet; she'd have gone ballistic knowing Jasmine had stayed up so late on a school night. I went downstairs and checked in on Carl again. He was off the phone so I popped my head in and told him that the evening had been fine. Then we talked about a possible job he had that he thought I would be good for. I noticed he looked very tired and he kept rubbing his temples. I asked if he felt okay, and he said he felt kind of queasy. I asked him if I could get him anything and he told me a cup of tea. So I went to the kitchen, boiled some water, and brought him the kettle and a box of tea bags."

"He is the one who asked for the tea?" Steve asked, making sure to clarify that point.

Amy nodded. "I was honestly thinking more antacids or aspirin or something. I even brought him the whole box of tea so he could just make the cup himself. I don't like making tea for other people since it can vary so much in strength."

Steve took another drink out of the Dr. Pepper bottle, his eyes narrowed like he was intently thinking of something.

"Why do you ask?" Amy asked.

Steve set the bottle back down on the counter. "Oh, nothing. I'm just trying to put the puzzle together. I seem to have a lot of pieces with no place. Keep going. What happened after you brought him the tea?"

"I was going to leave for the night, but as I walked out of Carl's office, I heard Jasmine call out, so I ran upstairs to check on her. She wanted a glass of water. I got that, but then it was another half hour before I could get her to settle back down."

"So it's now about 10:30?"

Amy nodded. "Yeah. The clock on Jasmine's nightstand said 10:28 when I turned the lights back off. I went back downstairs to tell Carl again I was leaving and that's when I found him slumped over in his chair. I thought maybe he'd fallen asleep, but the more I looked at him, the less I believed that. I tried to wake him up, nothing. I took a pulse, couldn't find one." The more she went on, the quieter her words got. "I tried moving him and his limp body just...fell out of the chair." Tears began running down her cheeks. "I picked up the phone and called the police. I was trying CPR when Janice came in and started yelling at me and pushing me away and...I'm sure she told you the rest." Amy stood at the kitchen counter, staring at the wall and trying not to cry. She knew if she looked at Steve, she probably would.

Steve looked around the kitchen and saw a tissue box sitting on the counter by the door. He grabbed one and started to dry the tears from Amy's cheeks. "I'm sorry I had to put you through that," he said softly.

Amy put her hand over his and then took the tissue from him. "No, it's alright, really. While I was at Berkeley, I was part of a grief support group. The therapist in charge once told me that you're always okay as long as you feel something. It doesn't matter what - anger, despair - as long as you feel. I never understood what he meant by that. I mean, how can feeling like you want to rip your own heart out feel better than not feeling anything? Then I met this girl who had witnessed her mother commit suicide about a year prior. She...felt nothing. Nothing made her laugh, nothing made her cry...she was completely emotionless. I'm not sure she could even feel physical pain. She was a walking zombie. Then, I understood. As long as I still react to all these...whatever they are...I know I'm at least human. Sometimes I have to remind myself of that all the time, but...it will get better. Can't get any worse."

Steve smiled. "You amaze me."

"I do?" Amy asked in disbelief.

"Yeah. After all you've been through and you're still positive."

"You must have forgotten who I am. I'm the one who thinks people die by being around me. That could be the least positive thing ever. Although, I was positive about that."

"Was?" Steve asked, catching her use of the past tense. "Don't tell me I was able to change your mind...maybe just a little?" he teased.

Amy smirked. "Maybe a little." She paused then quickly uttered, "I'm still not a hundred percent convinced it's not just me."

"Well then I still have some work to do, don't I?"

Amy started to ask him exactly what he meant by that, but she yawned instead.

Steve looked at his watch. "I should let you get some rest."

Amy shrugged. "Not sure I want to sleep anyway. I do, but I don't."

Steve gave her a confused look.

"Every time I close my eyes, I either flash back to the night Carl died or the funeral. I've been either discovering a dead body or getting shot over and over again all day. Except this time, I open my eyes and see an empty room instead of…" Deciding she shouldn't have said what she was going to, she tried covering it up. "It's enough to make me not want to sleep. I guess I'll sleep when I'm exhausted enough to pass out."

Just like with the past tense usage, Steve caught everything she said. "Instead of what?"

"Hmm?"

"You said you open your eyes and see an empty room instead of...instead of what?"

Amy paused, suddenly embarrassed to say it. "Instead of you. When I first opened my eyes after I got shot, I saw you looking at me and telling me everything was okay. Now no one is there to tell me it's okay so my mind wanders to every dark place it can. It's stupid."

Steve suddenly felt compelled to hug her. He wrapped his arms around her and slowly, she did the same. "It's not stupid. What happened was a very traumatic thing. Having someone with you, even if it's a stranger, helps you not feel like you're going through hell alone."

Amy simply said, "Yeah," even though she agreed with him completely. She was never good at going through things alone and having someone there who at least appeared to care was always a little helpful. It kept her mind from automatically thinking the worst possible thing. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to treat you like my therapist or something. You shouldn't have to listen to me whine about my fears."

Steve pulled out of the hug and looked Amy in the eyes. "You can tell me anything. That's what friends are for, right? To help each other through things?"

Amy smiled. "You want to be my friend? Even after seeing me...I don't know...as a complete mess? After seeing my insane roommate?"

Steve laughed. "Oh, the crazy roommate clinched the deal."

Amy shook her head. "Maybe you're the crazy one."

He smiled at her. "Maybe I am."

"You know that I will probably never be able to repay you for all you've done."

"We'll work something out. In the meantime…" Steve took Amy's hand and led her out to the living room. He walked over to the couch and picked up Mr. Sniffles. "I want you to take good care of this little guy. If you wake up after another flashback, look at him and remember...that someone loves you. And everything will be okay." He handed the rabbit to Amy.

She took it in her hands. "Thanks." Then she yawned again.

Steve walked toward the front door with Amy following behind. He opened the door, but turned back before stepping into the hallway. He got into his shirt pocket and pulled out a pen. "Give me your hand," he told her.

She gave him her left hand, and Steve wrote something on it. Taking it back, she looked and saw he'd written a phone number.

"Even if it's three in the morning. I'm less than five minutes away. Don't go to those dark places," he said, then kissed her on the forehead and left the apartment.

Amy watched him walk down the hall and through the door to the stairwell. Quietly, she closed the door. Clutching Mr. Sniffles, she then walked to the window, hoping to see Steve leave the building. A few seconds later, he came out the front door and began walking across the street to his police car. Before getting in, he turned back toward the building and looked up at the third floor. He saw Amy standing at her window looking down at him. He waved. She had Mr. Sniffles wave for her. He then got in his car and drove off toward his own place.

Amy closed the curtains and looked at her bunny friend. "Everything is going to be alright, isn't it?" Mr. Sniffles did not comment.


	12. Chapter 12

The Saturday had passed by slowly but uneventfully. After Steve had left the night before, Amy broke down and took a Valium. It helped her sleep all night and half the next day. She woke up groggy and half out of it. She wandered around the apartment a while, looking out the window to check the weather, turning on the TV to see if there was anything worth watching, thinking she should eat something though she didn't feel like it. Karen was at work and Amy wanted to take advantage of having the apartment to herself, but her energy was low and her pain was higher than it had been the whole day before. She attempted to bathe, and even though it had been over 24 hours and the doctor said showers were fine after that time, she still was afraid to get the wound wet. She also refused to take the bandage off because doing so would force her to look at it, something she couldn't bring herself to do yet.

What should have taken a half hour at most took an hour, but washing her hair at least made her feel a little better. She then walked around her apartment some more, trying to figure out something to do that didn't require her moving a lot. It was back to the TV for the rest of the afternoon, though she more stared at the box than actively watched it.

Around dinnertime, after doing nothing but snacking on saltines for the last four hours, Amy decided that she had to eat something with more substance. She started heading to the kitchen when she heard a knock at her door. Again checking the peephole, she was met with the same view as the night before.

"Don't tell me you had another exciting day you just had to tell me about," Amy said after opening the door.

"No, I just had a feeling you needed food." Steve held up a bag from a deli down the street.

"You must be psychic; I was just about to force myself to eat something. Come in."

Steve walked in and set the bag on the kitchen counter. "Do you feel okay?"

"Yeah. I just slept a long time and felt kind of blah. I think I am actually more hungry than sick though. Plus my side hurts and I don't want to take any of those pain pills on an empty stomach. You didn't have to bring me food though."

"Well I can just take it back and eat it all myself."

"You did make the trip all the way here. I'd hate for it to be a waste. What did you get?" Amy asked, looking into the bag.

"Soup. I wasn't sure if you'd want to eat something heavy."

"That's perfect. It'll go well with the saltines I've been eating all day."

"Are you sure you feel okay?" Steve asked, concerned she wasn't telling him the complete truth.

"Yes, fine. Just groggy."

"But you did sleep?"

Amy nodded. "All night and half the day. No nightmares though."

Steve smiled. "Good. I knew Mr. Sniffles would be a good companion."

Amy started to take bowls out of the kitchen cabinet when there was another knock at the door. "Who could that be?" she wondered out loud. She looked through the peephole and her expression turned to one of annoyance.

"Who is it?" Steve asked.

"Paul," Amy whispered. "I'll get rid of him." She opened the door. "Paul, what a surprise. What are you doing here?"

"I'd kind of like to ask you the same thing." he told her. "I thought you were getting out of the hospital today."

"Oh, well, they let me go early, said I was doing fine. Karen brought me home. Thanks for offering though."

"They let you go that early? Are the insane? You get shot and they barely keep you overnight. What has health care come to these days?" Paul started walking into Amy's apartment and she was hesitant to stop him for fear he'd make a scene. "You should be resting in bed," he told her as he walked in. He then turned and saw Steve in the kitchen. He just stared.

"Paul, this is a friend of mine from Berkeley, Steve. Steve, this is Paul, a friend from back home," Amy said, not wanting Paul to know Steve was a cop. She was afraid he would insult Steve and then she'd never hear the end of it from Paul. _How can you be friends with a cop? Don't you know they're out to get you? _ She could hear it all and wanted no part of it.

Steve went to shake Paul's hand. "Nice to meet you," he told the man, even though he wasn't totally sincere. He was more glad to get the chance to size up the guy. If Karen's accusations held any water, he'd want to get a sense of what made this guy tick.

Paul was visibly reluctant, but he shook Steve's hand the just the same. "Friend from Berkeley, huh? What were you studying?"

Amy rolled her eyes. She was irritated that Paul was giving Steve the third degree after just meeting him, but it was typical Paul behavior.

"Law. Business, taxes, that sort of thing. I recently moved to Sacramento to work in a firm there. Come back every now and then to visit friends and family. I heard what happened to Amy and thought I'd come check on her."

"Same here," Paul said. "I can't believe she got shot while attending a funeral. I mean, what the hell were the cops thinking, letting a civilian get in the middle of a shootout?"

"It wasn't a shootout, for God's sake," Amy blurted out before Steve could even register a reaction. "It was a stakeout that went wrong because that's sometimes what happens when you're dealing with highly volatile people."

"The cops or the criminal?" Paul asked her.

She glared at him. "The criminal."

"They tell you that so that you wouldn't sue them for negligence? If they were going to apprehend the guy, they should have gotten all the civilians out of the way first. It's like they didn't care at all."

Amy looked at Steve and even though he wasn't saying anything, she could tell all this talk was rubbing him the wrong way.

"Should they have tipped the guy off? Made him realize the place was crawling with cops so that he could have shot a lot more people? Why don't you tell me how they should have handled it since you've been to the academy and all." Amy knew she sounded snotty and upset, but she didn't care.

"Whoa, mellow out, mama," Paul said to Amy. "No need getting all defensive. The cops are big boys and can defend themselves. What you should be doing is making them explain why you got stuck in the middle of their mess and how they're going to atone for it, not defending them. They were in the wrong. Your blood is on their hands."

Amy had had enough. She took a deep breath and asked, "Did you just come here to bad mouth the police, or was there another reason?"

Paul looked at her like he couldn't believe she had just said that to him. He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. "I came to check on you. That's what friends do. This is a time when you need plenty of love and support and people to lean on."

"I am fine," was all Amy said to that.

"Yeah, but you forget that I know you. I know deep down you're not okay. You're hurting both physically and emotionally and you need someone there for you."

"I have people, plenty of them. I'm not as alone as you seem to think I am. Besides, you probably need to go back to LA soon. I assume you have a job or…"

Paul cut her off. "I can stay up here as long as you need me. You do need me, don't you?"

"The lady said she was fine," Steve said quietly, but not without a hint of anger in his voice.

Paul looked at him. "No offense, but I think I know her a little better than you."

Amy was about to lose her cool when Karen walked in the door. She turned and saw the trio in the kitchen. "What the hell are you doing here?" she shouted at Paul.

"Hi to you too, Karen," he said.

She slammed her purse on the kitchen counter. "You didn't answer my question. What the hell are you doing here?"

Paul laughed at her in disbelief. "She walks in and already assumes I'm up to something. Same paranoid Karen. I'm glad to see that things haven't changed. For your information, even though it really isn't any of your business, I'm here to see how Amy is doing. She needs me."

"Needs you?" Karen laughed. "She doesn't need you hanging around treating her like she's an infant," she told him. "So, there's the door. Feel free to use it."

"Hmm. You've told me how she feels," he said, looking at Karen, "and you've told me how she feels," he said, now looking at Steve, "but she hasn't told me if she wants me here." Paul looked at Amy.

She really didn't know what to say to make this whole scene just disappear. "I am fine right now. Maybe you and I could do lunch someday. Then you could see that I really am doing okay."

Paul looked at her, dumbstruck. He then looked at Steve, who was giving him a look that suggested he ought to leave.

"I don't see how she could have made it any plainer for you. She's fine and you can leave. I suggest you do so before I throw your stupid ass out myself," Karen warned him.

"Yeah, maybe that would be best. I'll call you later." He gave Amy a kiss on the forehead and headed toward the door. He got in one final jab at Karen. "You'll make someone a real good ex-wife someday."

Karen lunged forward like she was going to attack Paul but Steve ran over and grabbed her before she could. Paul turned to Steve and said, "It really was nice meeting you." He pulled the door closed behind him.

"What the hell did he mean by that?!" Karen yelled. "It was really nice meeting you," she said, putting emphasis on the word really.

"Nothing. The guy's just an arrogant SOB. Ignore him," Steve said, finally feeling it was safe enough to let Karen go.

"You see though, don't you? He's creepy! There's something weird going on here," Karen told him.

"There's nothing...there's nothing going on. He's just overprotective. That's it," Amy said.

Both turned to look at Amy, who was standing in the kitchen with her arms folded over her chest. She was shivering.

"That's it? Then why are you shivering?" Karen asked.

"I'm not shivering," Amy said. She unfolded her arms and began doing what she was doing before Paul knocked on the door. She opened a cabinet and got out a stack of bowls. All the way down to the counter, the bowls rattled in her shaky hands.

Steve looked at Karen. "Why don't you set the table, put the food on and all that?"

Karen nodded, walked into the kitchen, took the bag with the soup and the bowls in her hands, and went to the dining room table.

Steve walked into the kitchen and stood next to Amy. "You're obviously in a panic. It's not going to just go away on its own, is it? So why don't you tell me what about everything that just happened is bothering you the most."

"Nothing is bothering me. He just made me mad," Amy said quietly.

Karen came back in the kitchen to get spoons. "That's not usually how you react when you get mad."

Amy snapped. "What do you want from me? You want me to admit how much he worries me? How much I wonder if he's going to snap if I say just the wrong thing to him? How I hate his constant cynicism and hatred for the police? Fine! I admit it! Sometimes he scares the hell out of me and I just wish he'd go away!" She stormed out of the kitchen, leaving Karen and Steve in the kitchen, shocked.

"I can honestly say I never saw that coming," Karen finally said.

Steve walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. He did not find Amy in there, so he walked past the dining area and to two bedrooms.

"Hers is the one in front of you," Karen told him, coming out of the kitchen with the spoons.

Steve slowly walked into Amy's bedroom. He found her curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed. He walked over to the bed and sat on the edge facing the closet. "It's okay to feel that way, you know. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

She laid for awhile, not saying anything. Finally, she said, "I defended him. I defended him for years. How can I defend someone out of one side of my mouth and then say how scared I am of them out of the other?" She got quiet again. Steve said nothing, not wanting to push her. She spoke up again. "I didn't used to be afraid of him. He was always a kooky kid, but not scary. Lately though, he's just...gone a little off the deep end. He's so angry about the government and cops and life in general. Everyone is out to screw you kind of attitude. He's so concerned I'm in danger all the time. If I ever told him that I had a bad day because of something someone else said or did, he'd get all mad at them. 'I'd give them a piece of my mind' he'd say. I just thought it was a ridiculous reaction. They made me feel bad, not him."

"Yeah, but if someone makes your friends feel bad, you feel bad for them."

Amy sat up. "Okay, friend, tell me something. If I called you crying, saying that I was upset because I lost an internship to someone whom I felt didn't deserve it, how would you feel toward that person?"

"If they made you mad, I'd probably be mad too. I'd be upset that you were upset."

Amy gave Steve a look that said she didn't like his answer.

"I didn't say I'd do anything, but I would be upset. Your pain would be my pain."

Amy shrugged.

"Do you think this guy would hurt you any? Because if you do, we could get a restraining order…"

"No, no, not at all," Amy said, cutting him off. "He'd never hurt me. I just...wonder sometimes, that's all. I'm blowing this all out of proportion."

"Maybe, maybe not. I think I will humor Karen though and keep an eye on him."

"I still don't think he had anything to do with any of this mess. He was in LA." She stood up. "You know, let's go a couple hours without talking about it, huh? I bet our dinner is cold by now." She walked out of her bedroom. Steve just shook his head and followed her out the door.

* * *

After dinner, Karen excused herself to study and Steve decided he should probably leave as well. He'd been fairly quiet the rest of the evening anyway, a fact that was not lost on Amy.

"Are you okay?" she asked as the two walked to the front door. "You've been awfully quiet."

Steve turned and looked at her. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Amy initially let it go, but then remembered how he'd pushed her to tell him what was bothering her. "If something is bothering you, I wish you'd tell me. Lord knows I've told you plenty I didn't really want to."

Steve opened the door and walked into the hallway. He then turned around and looked at Amy. "Do you believe Paul, about your shooting being my fault?"

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Your fault? I never said that!"

"I know you didn't. I can't help but wonder if you think it though."

Amy didn't know what to say. "You must think I think so. I guess in hindsight things could have gone differently, but isn't that always the way? That's why they say hindsight is 20/20. I could have not kicked the guy, but I didn't really like the idea of getting in his car and never getting out alive, so I did the first thing that came to my head. It was probably wrong, but I'm not a trained police officer."

"Yeah, but I am," Steve snapped. Amy realized at that moment that this wasn't really about what she thought; it was about his guilt. She felt bad that she hadn't realized it before.

"This is not your fault. Did someone make you feel like it was? I mean, you got the guy you were after and I didn't die or become paralyzed or anything."

"No, you're just stuck with the nightmares."

Amy still didn't know where all this was coming from. "I've had nightmares about a lot of things. It's been two years since my father died and I still have dreams about finding him dead and blood all over the house, and…" She trailed off because bringing up the nightmares bothered her too much. "I didn't even know you then, so don't think that what you were involved with has a monopoly in my subconscious. You shouldn't feel guilty. What happened happened, and now we just have to live with it."

"Just live with it, huh?" Steve ran his fingers through his hair. "You're just living with it? You cry every day. You can't sleep. And it's all because I…" He stopped talking.

"Because you what?"

Steve just shook his head. "Nevermind." He started walking down the hall without even saying goodbye.

Amy stepped out into the hallway. "Call you tomorrow?" she shouted at him, but he didn't respond or turn around. He made it to the stairwell and before opening the door, he turned to look at her.

"Maybe this wasn't a good idea," was all he said before opening the door and leaving.

Amy stood in the hallway, dumbstruck. "What wasn't a good idea?" she said quietly.


	13. Chapter 13

Mike pulled up to the curb in front of Steve's place. There, he saw the familiar sight of Steve's Porsche, so he knew his partner was home. As he got out of his car, he grabbed a grocery sack off the front seat. He carried the sack up the many stairs to Steve's front door, which he promptly knocked on. There was no answer after a few seconds, so Mike knocked again. "Steve, buddy boy! You in there? I brought beer and brats! Nice Sunday to watch the Giants beat the Cubs!"

Soon Steve answered the door looking like he just rolled out of bed. His hair was a mess, he was wearing a white T-shirt, an old pair of lounging pants, and a robe. "Oh, hey Mike. Come on in," he said in manner that was more depressing than cheery.

"Rough night?" Mike asked, looking Steve up and down.

Steve shut the door. "Eh," he said. He knew Mike was getting at the complete opposite of what had actually happened. "It's not what you're thinking."

Mike walked into the kitchen and took the provisions out of the bag. "How do you know what I was thinking?" he asked.

"Because I've seen that look before."

Mike walked back into the living room. "Thanks for dressing up for me," he teased.

Steve looked down at himself before plopping into a chair. "Yeah, well, I sort of forgot you were coming over."

Mike sat down on the couch. "Okay, out with it."

"Out with what?"

"With what's gnawing at you. You're usually much more chipper on a day off."

"I'm fine. I'm just kind of tired."

Mike gave him the I-don't-believe-you-for-a-second look. "That's not tired, that's bothered. Out with it."

"Mike, it's not something I really want to talk about. It'll work itself out eventually."

"How? How will it work itself out?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know, disappearing. Never speaking of it again."

Mike looked at his partner without speaking.

"Now don't go all detective on me, Mike. I don't want to talk about it."

"This thing, it's only going to get worse if it goes away. It will get worse and you'll get grumpy and then you'll be annoying to work with. Don't put me through that."

"Gee, thanks," Steve said in reference to the annoying to work with line. "What makes you think you know so much about this? It might get better."

"It's a girl, isn't it?"

Steve hated when Mike did that. "Why do you think that?"

"Because the last time you looked and acted like this, it was over a girl. Is it Amy?"

"You're not going to leave me alone until I tell you, are you?"

Mike shook his head.

"Alright, yes, it's Amy."

Mike shook his head again. "I had a feeling you were getting in too deep with that girl. What did she do?"

Steve didn't like Mike's insinuation. "First of all, there isn't any getting in too deep going on. And second, _she_ didn't do anything, I did."

Mike could tell by his tone that Steve resented his statement. "I apologize. You're right; I'm judging the situation before even meeting all the players. Even though I haven't met her, I can tell you care about her very much. So I was right; if the problem, in this case Amy, just goes away, you'll be miserable."

"I hate it when you're right," Steve said.

Mike smiled. "I know. So what's the problem? If you don't want to tell me, I could always call Lenny and you could talk to a real professional."

"Pass." Steve took a deep breath. "That day of the stakeout. I was sitting in my car watching to see if Milani would show up. Carl Duncan's funeral was going on, so I was looking around the crowd to see if there was anything that stood out as suspicious. Then I saw her. She was standing in the back, all alone, with her head down. I don't know, I just kept watching her. She was so sad. I couldn't believe no one was there with her. Then I watch Janice attack her in front of everybody and I just…"

"Just what?"

"I wanted to take her away from all of it. I just wanted to see the girl smile." Steve paused again. "I got distracted. I got her shot."

Mike could see the anguish in Steve's eyes. "What makes you think that?"

Steve shook his head. "I just keep replaying it over and over in my head, and then something that was said yesterday made me start doubting myself all over again. What if I'd have done this differently? Or that differently? Would she have walked away? Would Milani have gotten away?"

"Steve, no one at the scene mentioned that you were anything but on the ball. Okay, so a pretty girl distracted you. That happens daily," Mike teased. He managed to make Steve smile. "But it sounds like, from all the reports I had to read, that you did everything you could. I read it like Milani only fired the gun as a reflex after Amy kicked him."

"This isn't her fault," Steve was quick to point out.

"I didn't say it was," Mike was also quick to point out. "All I'm saying is that if she hadn't done that, or if she had done something differently, Milani may not have even pulled the trigger."

"She might have ended up dead and him still in the wind."

"Sadly, that was a likely possibility. So we should be content with what we got. Maybe not happy, but satisfied that it wasn't worse."

"She says the same thing. She's not even angry about it. She has nightmares and flashbacks, but she's not angry."

"She sounds like a smart girl. I'd like to meet her. If she's not upset, then don't you be," Mike told him.

Steve digested the conversation for a minute. "I just...maybe if it had been someone else…"

"Someone you weren't attracted to?"

"Yeah. It's stupid, isn't it? Falling for a person without even talking to them."

"Oh, buddy boy, if there is one thing love isn't, it's smart!" Mike laughed. "Take it from an old married man."

Steve laughed.

"I'm also going to take another wild guess that you had some kind of falling out with her."

"Stop reading my mind," Steve said, jokingly. "I just have this feeling that she blames me. Maybe not right now, but she'll wake up in the middle of the night after a nightmare and think, If it weren't for Steve screwing everything up…"

Mike rolled his eyes. "That's ridiculous. I bet if anything, she sees you as her hero, and you know how women love heroes." He playfully punched Steve in the shoulder as he got up.

"I don't know…" Steve started.

"Well I do know. So stop worrying about it! Come on. Go get dressed and come help me with lunch. You'll feel better after the game and then you can call and make up with her."

Mike went to the kitchen. Steve got up, shook his head, and chuckled. Mike was always right.


	14. Chapter 14

_**I didn't intend to go this long between updates, but work got in the way, and then I came down with something and there went my energy. I was going to post this chapter along with 15, but this one is long enough as it is. I thank you all again for the encouragement on this story!**_

Amy had spent the better part of Sunday trying to call Steve, but either he wasn't home or he didn't answer. She eventually gave up, but without a real answer as to why he'd left upset or what he meant by 'Maybe this wasn't a good idea', Amy's nerves were on edge. She kept wondering what she'd said or done, or wondered if it was all Paul's fault. She was tempted to drive to Sausalito, find his grandmother's house, and yell at him, but overall she was too tired and depressed to move off the couch. That's even where she slept for the night...or at least tried. Most of the night was spent tossing and turning and over thinking both Paul's appearance and Steve's sudden change in attitude. She desperately wanted to stop thinking because her negativity was clouding her perceptions, but she just could not shut off her brain.

At around 6am, Amy's eyes popped open after what felt like an hour of sleep. She looked at the clock on the wall and groaned. It was too early to wake up when she really had no reason to get up in the first place, so she tried falling back asleep. Karen got up and moved around the apartment getting ready for school, but Amy pretended to be asleep. She didn't want any reminders of anything that happened the day before, and she knew Karen would want to talk about it.

An hour later, Karen left, which left Amy still wide awake and over thinking. The phone rang, and Amy lept off the couch and ran over to it like she was on fire.

"Hello?" she answered a little too eagerly.

"What are you doing up at this time of day?" a lady asked.

Amy sat back down on the couch in disappointment. "Because the phone rang, Mom. If you didn't think I'd be awake, then why did you call me at 7am?"

"Because I was awake, and I haven't talked to you since Saturday. Are you doing okay? Are you still in a lot of pain? You sound tired."

"I'm doing fine, and I sound tired because you woke me up."

"Are you sure you're fine? The pain isn't keeping you awake, is it?"

"Mom, I'm fine, honest. The pain has gone down a lot since Friday."

"Do you have enough pain pills?" her mother asked.

"Plenty. Besides, I'm trying not to take them."

"Why not? If you're in pain, take the pills."

"Mom, they're habit forming. The last thing I need is to become hooked on pain pills. Besides, I don't want to rely on them forever. Really, I am fine. If it gets too bad, I take them. Trust me."

"Are you getting enough sleep? That can help healing."

"That's all I did this weekend was sleep. I never even left my apartment. Have _you_ been sleeping?" Amy shot back. After her father had died, her mother developed a nasty case of insomnia. Instead of sleeping, she'd stay up all night working on one craft project after another. She, too, had been prescribed pills, but like Amy, was always reluctant to take them for fear that that would be the only way she'd ever get to sleep in the future.

"Yes, honey, just fine. Don't worry about me."

"Then don't worry about me. I have people looking out for me."

"Karen is not really a reliable caretaker."

"She's just fine. It's not like I'm an invalid. Besides, that's not who I meant." Amy cringed, realizing she should not have opened that can of worms, a can that might not even exist anymore.

"Oh? Like who? Is there a man in your life?"

Amy wasn't sure if her mother's tone was one of happiness or not, so she attempted to avoid the issue altogether. "There are men in everyone's lives. Doesn't mean they're dating them all. Speaking of men, why did you have to tell Paul's mother l was in the hospital? Now he's trying to fawn all over me, and it's driving me crazy. He probably came up here just because of that."

"Oh no dear, he's been up there for quite awhile. I think at least a month, maybe more."

Amy was surprised by what she'd just heard. "A month? Are you sure? He told me when he visited me in the hospital that he'd gotten into town only a couple days before. Are you sure you heard that right?"

"Are you sure _you_ heard right?" her mother asked. "It's been longer than a couple days since I've seen him next door."

Amy wasn't sure what to make of that. It wasn't like her mother to get details like that confused and she and Paul's mother talked almost every day across the fence. So if that was the case, why did Paul lie? Before she could quiz her mother more, there was another knock at her door.

"Mom, someone's at my door. I have to go."

"At your door at this hour? Who would be knocking at your door so early?"

Amy, dragging the phone clear across the apartment, skipped looking through the peephole and just unlocked the door. Opening it, she found Steve standing there. "A policeman," she told her mother.

"A policeman? Are you in more trouble?"

"He's a detective, mom. He arrested the guy who shot me. I'm not in any trouble. I was helping him with the investigation into Carl's death. That's probably why he's here." She looked at Steve and motioned her head for him to come in.

"Well…" her mother started.

"Well, nothing. I have to go; I can't keep him waiting."

"You're sure there's nothing more going on?"

Amy sighed and took the receiver away from her ear. "Would you tell my mom I'm fine?" she asked Steve.

He smiled and took the phone. "Hi, Mrs. Johnson. My name is Steve Keller. I'm with the San Francisco Police Department."

"You'll tell me the truth, right? My daughter isn't in any harm, is she?"

"No, she's fine. Like she said, she's just helping me with some things I'm looking into."

"I thought Carl died of a heart attack? The police up there investigate natural deaths?"

"We're looking into every possibility, ma'am. Your daughter has been a big help," Steve told the worried lady.

"Okay. I just worry, being so far away."

"I'm sure you do. She's in good hands though, trust me. She has good friends."

The two exchanged a few more pleasantries and then Steve handed the receiver back to Amy. "Your mom says she'll call you again later."

"I have no doubt about that," Amy said, hanging up the phone. She put it back on an end table and looked at Steve. "I'm surprised to see you," she blurted out. "I...um...tried calling you yesterday but you must have been busy."

Steve suddenly felt a combination of worry and guilt. "Were you okay?" he asked, concerned that his pity party had caused him to ignore her when she needed him.

"Yeah, I was fine. I just..." It seemed almost like instinct for her to not ask him to come clean, but she decided the only way this was going to work was to just come out with it. "What happened Saturday?" she asked, almost ready to cry.

Steve sighed. He knew this conversation had to happen, and he'd rehearsed it in his mind all night, but he still wasn't sure what to say. "Is this how you feel every time I made you tell me what was wrong?"

"Like you just can't find the right words to say that won't make the other person think you're losing it? Pretty much. And trust me, I'm not usually the type to admit things like being scared of Paul to, well, anyone, but…" she paused, again apprehensive about saying how she was feeling. "But I feel like I can tell you anything, and you won't think I'm crazy. I'd hoped you'd do the same." She shrugged and crossed her arms over her chest.

Steve sat down on the couch and pulled Amy down next to him. "That's because you're not crazy. You've been through so much in the last two years, and you've been so hard on yourself about it. I feel bad for you. And then I just add to it."

"You add to it? What do you mean by that? If you mean you've somehow added to my misery, you couldn't be farther from the truth. You've become the one bright spot in my life. I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true. Having you around makes me feel less scared. After I was being wheeled away to the ambulance and you left to talk with the other guys, I realized that for that little time you were with me, trying to calm me down, I didn't feel so much pain. I felt a sense of calm in a situation that was anything but. Once you left, all that pain came back. I'm sure the ambulance attendants were fed up with me by the time we got to the hospital. I cried like an infant the whole way there."

"You were in pain."

"I know, but I was more scared. I spent the next several hours scared. But when you were around, things were better. The pain was less, the anxiety was less...life was more tolerable. If you add anything to my life, it's certainly not misery."

"Thanks."

"Is that what you're worried about, if you make me miserable or not?" Amy asked, finding that rather odd.

"No, not really. I just keep replaying the scene in my head and thinking that there were so many things I could have done differently, things that wouldn't have put you in harm's way."

"What exactly could you have done differently?" Amy inquired.

"I could have done a lot of things differently. When Milani was approaching his mother's grave, he looked at me and stopped walking. I assumed he made me as a cop, so instead of waiting until he was at her grave and doing whatever it is that he does, I tried to arrest him right there, putting you in the middle. Maybe then he wouldn't have been so ready to grab his gun, or maybe he would have thought I wasn't a cop after all because I didn't try to arrest him at that very second."

Amy thought for a second. "I remember that. I froze. I had no idea what was going on, but unlike a normal person, I stood there instead of running. None of what happened would have if I'd have just, backed up or something."

"There was no guarantee that he wouldn't have grabbed you or shot at you anyway, even if you had tried to leave. If I would have waited, you would have gotten out of there just fine," Steve said as if there was no other truth but that.

"Guarantees, huh?" Amy asked. "Okay, well then was there a guarantee that if you _had_ waited, this jerk would have put flowers on his mother's grave, turned around, and surrendered without a fight? I highly doubt that. No one comes to a cemetery with a gun unless they plan on using it." She took Steve's hands in hers. "You're beating yourself up because you keep trying to make the situation come out perfectly. Well, I keep thinking of all the things I could have done differently as well. I could have left earlier than I did after Janice yelled at me. I should have left even earlier than that probably. When that guy had me hostage, I could have just done everything he wanted instead of trying to get away. After all, the place was crawling with police, was it not? I doubt he would have gotten far if he had gotten me in the car and tried to leave. But...I'm not perfect. You're not perfect. The situation was far from perfect. Is there ever a situation in your job that _is_ perfect?"

Steve looked at her. "You don't think I'm perfect?" he asked, a smile coming back to his face.

Amy laughed. "Maybe not all the time?"

"Especially not that day."

"Hey, no one died, that guy is in jail. It could have been a lot worse."

"Mike told me that same thing yesterday."

"Well if he said it, and I said it, then it must be true. Believe us!"

Steve squeezed Amy's hands. "I know you're both right, but I just keep thinking that if I hadn't been…" He couldn't admit it to Amy; it had been hard enough tell Mike, and now was just not the time. He stood up and looked at Amy. She was giving him a concerned look. "Do you blame me?"

Amy, tears welling up in her eyes, stood up as well. She put her arms around Steve and held him tightly. She rested her head on his shoulder and said, "I don't blame you for anything. You're a hero in my eyes. You could have tried to shoot the guy in the head, but instead you put your gun down in an effort to save me. How could I possibly blame you for that?"

Steve put his arms around her as well and started running his fingers through her hair. "I just wish I felt like I didn't somehow contribute to your nightmares."

Amy pulled out of the hug. "I seem to remember you telling me that my lack of self-esteem was something we would work on. Right?"

Steve nodded.

"Okay, so your doubting and blaming yourself is something we'll also work on. But can we work on it together? I'm no good at trying to do this alone." Amy kind of chuckled in an effort to lighten the mood, but more as a way to make light of the fact that she'd just put herself down, again.

Steve took her face in his hands. "Yeah, we can. I'm sorry I overreacted before. I guess this whole thing is bothering me more than it should. I just…" Again, he couldn't quite tell her that his feelings for her were the reason he felt so guilty about the incident.

"I hope you don't put yourself through all this turmoil over everything that happens at work; you'll give yourself an ulcer."

Steve shook his head. "No, not everything."

Amy smiled. "Good. But a little self-reflection never hurts. It's why you're a good cop." Amy wiped the tears out of her eyes subtly. "Is that what you came over for?"

"Actually, I thought maybe we could go to Jasmine's school, ask her about her journal."

"Um, sure. Let me get dressed, grab something to eat…"

"We'll grab something on the way," Steve said.

"Now you're just spoiling me. First dinner, now breakfast. And you thought my getting shot was a bad thing?" She smiled at him and ran into the bedroom to put on some clothes.

Steve let out a sigh, both of relief and annoyance that he still couldn't be completely honest that his agony had little to do with the case itself. He wandered over to the dining room and looked out the window, and then looked at a table that was behind the dining room table. The long table was covered with picture frames, so Steve started looking at them. There were recent pictures of Amy and Karen, and some of people Steve had never seen. There was a picture of a chubby, smiling baby laying on a floor. "Is this you as a baby?" Steve asked Amy.

She peeked her head around the corner to see what he was looking at. "Yeah, that's me. Fat little thing, wasn't I?"

Steve chuckled. "I think you were cute." He then looked over at a picture of Amy, Karen, and a little boy, taken when they were children. Stuck in the corner of the frame was a picture of Amy, Karen, and Paul as adults. Steve assumed the little boy in the picture must be Paul.

Amy came out and saw what Steve was doing. "Paul, Karen, and me as kids, and then twenty years later. You can tell by Karen's expression that she wasn't a fan of Paul's either time."

Steve looked closer at the photos. Karen was giving Paul a dirty look in them both. Steve had to smirk at that. He then looked at the recent picture. He thought Amy's expression wasn't exactly one of happiness. She was smiling in the childhood photo, but not so much in the recent one. Steve looked around and saw that Amy had disappeared into the kitchen, so he quickly took the newest photograph and stuck it in an inside jacket pocket. There was something telling about that picture, and Steve wanted more time with it.

Amy came out of the kitchen, announcing she was ready, so the pair went downstairs and out to the street. Amy looked around for the LTD Steve had brought her home in. Instead, she saw him walking over to a green Porsche. "That's your car?" she asked in disbelief. "What about that other one?"

"That's the department's. Mike has it right now. This one is mine."

Amy walked over and looked at it in awe. "I've never known someone who drove a fancy import. You must make a lot of money. My dad had a little MG, and yeah, I guess that's technically an import too, but they're so small that they're cheap." She walked to the passenger's side where Steve had the door open for her. She attempted to get in three times.

"It won't bite, you know," Steve said. "It's just a car."

Amy chuckled nervously. "I know, but I don't want to scratch it or something."

"By sitting in it?" He laughed. "You're cute. Get in."

Amy entered the car gingerly as if she and it were both made of glass. Once she was in, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Steve shook his head and closed the door.

* * *

The two sat at a small table in a little breakfast cafe on Union Street. Amy took a drink of orange juice and then proceeded to yawn.

"You look tired," Steve told her. "Did you not get much sleep last night?"

Amy wasn't sure if she really wanted to tell Steve that he was the reason she couldn't sleep, so instead, she said, "I couldn't seem to get comfortable. I'm used to sleeping on my left side and not being able to is hard." She still managed to tell the truth while avoiding any controversial issues.

"Does it still hurt a lot?" he asked, drinking his coffee.

"Not so much. I guess. I mean, I've never been shot before, so I don't know how slowly or quickly they stop hurting."

Steve smiled. "I don't think there's a set time for the pain to go away."

"Yeah, probably not. I do feel better than I thought I would. After seeing all that blood that day...you kind of think you'll never recover." She then gasped. "I just realized something. I ruined your coat."

"What?" Steve had no idea what she was talking about.

"The coat you were wearing that day. You had it all wadded up trying to keep my side from bleeding. I ruined it."

Steve had actually forgotten all about the coat. He had given it to an ambulance attendant to have them throw it away with all the other blood-soaked garments at the hospital. He hadn't cared to take the time to get blood out of a coat. "Oh, don't worry about that. I can get another coat."

"But I didn't mean to bleed all over your clothes. I'll buy you a new one."

"You don't have to buy me a coat," Steve chuckled. "Worry about something else."

Amy sat and played with a sugar packet that was on the table. She shook it and turned it all around in her fingers. Suddenly she blurted out, "You are single, aren't you?"

Steve almost choked on his coffee. "Where did that come from?"

"You told me to worry about something else. I thought about a lot of things as I was laying awake last night. That was one of them. I don't want some woman coming after me on the street, accusing me of breaking up her home, or stealing her man, or…"

Steve, laughing, put his hand over Amy's mouth. "Maybe I should have told you not to worry about anything instead." He took his hand off her mouth. "That's one thing you don't have to worry about. There are very few women in this world who can put up with dating a cop for too long."

"Oh, okay. Sorry, I just start thinking of things and in my overactive mind they get all messed up and...well, anyway…I say and worry about dumb things all the time." Amy just stopped talking.

Steve looked her in the eyes. "And on you, it's cute. Possibly a little tiring, but like you said, we'll…"

"...work on it," they said together.

"You have a lot of work to do, Mr. Keller. You'll get tired of it soon enough." She started playing with the sugar packet again, trying to distract herself from the putdown she just slammed herself with.

"That's going to be task number one, to get you to stop insulting yourself."

Amy shrugged and muttered, "The truth hurts sometimes." She threw the sugar packet back with the others. "What do you mean there are very few women who can date a cop?"

"After the first time a date gets interrupted by work, they usually see that this will be a pattern and give up."

"Just because you work odd hours? So what? That seems awfully selfish. I mean, a lot of people work weird hours and are always on call. Women don't seem to have a problem marrying doctors and their schedules are just as weird. I suppose this comes from my social work background. I've been out in the field in the middle of the night several times. You do what you have to."

"Is that what you do for a living, social work?" Steve asked, realizing he'd known her almost a week and had never asked.

Amy nodded. "Mostly with kids. In college, I had my share of middle of the night calls during fieldwork. Sadly, children are in crisis at all times of the day, just like the people you work with."

"So you wouldn't mind if, say, in the middle of a dinner or something Mike comes and grabs me because there's a case?"

Amy scrunched her face up as if the question was too ridiculous to even ask. "Of course not. Sure, it may be annoying at first, but I'm guessing you'd be annoyed also. It's the life we chose for ourselves. We chose to help others any time they needed us, so we sacrifice little things here and there."

Steve was going to comment on how refreshing her attitude was and how maybe they should actually give it a test run, but the waitress brought their food and killed the mood. Instead he looked at Amy's breakfast. "Are you sure that's all you want?" he asked her, seeing a cinnamon roll on her plate.

"Absolutely. I'm not a fan of huge breakfasts. Besides, they have the best cinnamon rolls. They're all warm and gooey like they just came out of the oven." She ripped a piece off and handed it to Steve. "Here, try it."

"I don't want to eat your food."

She pushed it a little more at him. "Just try it. I'm not exactly going to starve to death."

He took the piece and ate it. "You're right."

"See? I think it's the only thing I've ever eaten here, though all the food looks good." She looked at his plate. "Like, whatever that is."

"It's a crêpe," he said.

"What's in it?" she asked.

He cut the end off one crêpe, put the piece on his fork, and handed it to her. "Strawberries and creme. Try it."

"Oh, I'm not eating your food. I'll just break down and try it some other time."

"Just try it. I'm not exactly going to starve to death," he said, mocking what she'd just said to him.

Amy scrunched up her face and looked at the fork. The crêpe was drizzled with strawberry sauce and whipped cream, which made grabbing it off the fork and eating it with her fingers difficult. She attempted a couple times but couldn't quite get past getting her fingers sticky.

"Just eat it off the fork. I don't have any communicable diseases."

It went against her nature of not sharing utensils with just anyone, but she did it anyway.

"That I know of," Steve finished.

Amy stopped chewing and looking at him like he was serious. He just started laughing.

"That's not funny," Amy said through a mouthful of crêpe. "That is good though."

"Now you have two things you can order." He cut off another piece of his crêpe and said, "So, Carl was a teacher of yours? In social work?"

Amy nodded and took a drink. "He was my favorite professor at Berkeley. He had such enthusiasm for the job and working with kids. So many people burn out on social work that I liked having someone to talk to who still had a passion for it after all those years."

"Sounds like police work. Some people, it's in their blood. Others, they're gone in a matter of years."

"You get it. Maybe that's why we get along; we both have similar jobs. Anyway, after graduation, I was finding it difficult to land a job, so Carl had me volunteering at the youth shelter I told you about. He and Janice were also looking for someone to care for Jasmine at the time, so that's what I did for money. He was always looking out for positions for me, calling people he knew…I owed him a lot."

Steve couldn't help but wonder why she was unemployed if this guy was helping her so much, but he realized he didn't really know about the world of social work and finding positions right out of college could be rare.

"Now I guess I'll be out there pounding the pavement on my own. I doubt another nanny job is in the cards; my previously employer didn't give me a very good recommendation."

Steve chuckled. "Consider yourself lucky. Was he this generous with all his students or just the ones he liked?" He wasn't sure exactly what he was getting at with that question, but there was something about this he couldn't shake off.

"He helped all his students if they needed it, but he didn't take them all under his wing like with me. I guess he saw potential in me that he didn't see in everyone." Amy took a bite of her cinnamon roll and thought for a second. "What are getting at?" she asked Steve.

"Nothing. I'm just trying to get a good picture of the man. The more I know about him, the easier it will be to figure this mess out."

"You think he was doing something inappropriate with us? That couldn't be further from the truth." Amy was slightly irritated. "He was a total gentleman. He never tried anything with me or anyone else I know."

Steve tried to end this as quickly as it started. "Okay, okay. I didn't mean anything bad was going on. I just need to know everything. That's all."

Amy looked down at her plate. "Sorry. I know. Sometimes when you're trying to find the truth, you find something you'd rather not have ever found. I'm not really helping."

"Yes you are. You told me about the journal, and who knows, maybe there's something valuable in there." He looked at his watch. "What time does school start?"

"Eight. It'll probably take twenty minutes to get over there."

"Where is the school?"

"Seacliff, on California Street by the park. You'll be pretty popular," Amy told him.

Steve flagged down the waitress, who handed him the check. "Why is that?" he asked.

"It's an all girls school." She smiled.

Steve chuckled as he laid down a tip. "If I were 12 again, that would be the greatest news in the world." He was glad that Amy seemed to not be mad about his line of questioning anymore.

* * *

Steve pulled his car into the parking lot around 8:30. He began to get out while Amy stayed put. "Aren't you coming?" he asked.

Amy shook her head. "Restraining order, remember? I'm not taking any chances with that lunatic."

"Yeah, probably a good idea." He closed his door and leaned back in through the open driver's window. "Miss Blake?" he asked, referring to Jasmine's teacher.

"Yeah, in room two."

"You're going to be okay here alone with the car? You can even touch the radio if you're daring." He handed her the keys and winked at her to let her know he was teasing.

Amy wasn't sure that was a good idea. "I think I'll just wait in silence. I don't want to chance breaking anything."

Steve shook his head. "I'll be right back." He walked away and to the front door of the school. He entered and saw the office was just to his left. Walking in, he showed the secretary his badge and let her know why he was there. She was accommodating and didn't even inquire as to why a detective would want to talk to a kindergartener, instead simply leading him down the hall and to her classroom. The secretary went into the room to get Jasmine, and when the little girl came out, she was ecstatic.

"King Steve!" she shouted before leaping up and giving him a huge hug. "Did you come to play with me?"

Steve lifted her up. "No, not today, kiddo. You have to stay at school. But, I did come up with a way you could help me."

Her eyes widened. "Really? I could help the police?"

"Uh huh. Amy told me that you write down everything you hear while you're spying in a journal."

"I do," the little girl said matter-of-factly. "Amy told me to because good spies need to remember what they hear."

"She was right. See, I think maybe you heard something that can help Amy and me solve a mystery."

"I did?"

"Maybe. Do you think you could let me see your journal sometime?"

"Sure, you can see it right now." Jasmine jumped down from Steve's arms and went into her classroom. Steve peeked in the open door and saw her digging through her backpack. She grabbed something and ran back out to the hall. She handed Steve a pink glittery book.

"You brought it to school?" he asked her.

"Of course. Lots of juicy things happen here, too. I can't go anywhere without it."

Steve knelt down. "Thank you, but I'm going to have to take it with me."

At first, Jasmine frowned, but then she shrugged. "That's okay. If I hear anything today, I'll just remember it. I have a new journal at home because this one is almost full."

"Good idea. Thank you for letting me borrow this. You're being a big help."

"Are you and Amy going to come back and play sometime?" she asked.

"I hope so. Amy misses playing with you. She was very happy to see Mr. Sniffles though. He's keeping her company at night."

Jasmine smiled. "Good. I gotta go back to class."

"Okay. I'll see you later, alright?"

Jasmine gave Steve a hug that almost knocked him over before she waved goodbye and went back into her classroom.

Steve, still kneeling in the middle of the hallway, looked down at the glittery notebook. He quickly put in under his jacket, not really wanting to people to see a grown man carrying a pink notebook.

He walked up to his car and opened the door. Amy, who was mindlessly staring out the window, jumped and gasped.

"Sorry," Steve said, getting in the car.

"I guess I wasn't paying attention. Did she say you could have it?"

"Better." He got into his jacket and pulled out the pink journal. "She gave it to me." He handed it to Amy.

"She had it with her?" she asked, taking it from Steve.

"Naturally. Lots of juicy things happen at school too."

"Silly me. Let's just hope there's something valuable to you in here." Steve pulled out of the parking space as Amy started flipping through the journal.


	15. Chapter 15

_**An author's note about everything that's happened will follow Chapter 16. This chapter is long enough as it is.**_

Steve and Amy walked into the squadroom. "Are you sure I should be here? Isn't this a restricted area or something?" Amy asked nervously.

"It's fine. You're with me. Civilians come in here all the time." Steve took her hand and led her over to his desk. He took off his jacket and put it over the back of his chair. He then told Amy to have a seat in a chair that was next to his desk. She did so and started looking through the journal. Steve's phone rang, so he answered it and took a quick call that Amy paid no attention to. She quickly became wrapped up in Jasmine's tales of the Duncan household.

Steve got off the phone and looked over at Amy, who was laughing. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing important. Apparently she was spying on a tea her mother was having. The things these women said out loud. I think it's hilarious, but I hope Jasmine didn't understand any of it."

Steve looked over Amy's shoulder and tried reading the same page. After he didn't say anything for awhile, Amy looked back at him and asked, "You don't know what that says, do you?"

"Not a clue."

Amy chuckled and pointed to something. "That says, 'The fat lady in the brown polka dot dress shoved cake in her mouth."

Steve looked at the sentence closely. "That says all that? How did you figure that out?"

"I read kidspeak. It's something you pick up over time."

He shook his head. "I'm glad you're here to read it."

"Do you want me to write down what I read?" she asked him.

He got into his desk and pulled out a legal pad. "Please do," he told her, handing her the paper.

Just then, Mike walked in and over to Steve's desk. "Happy grand jury day, buddy boy," he said happily.

"What?" Steve asked.

"Today, O'Brien is taking Milani's murder case up before a grand jury, who will decide that there is every reason in the world to try the man for murder, and we can finally put this whole thing behind us."

Steve looked at Amy. He was suddenly worried about her mental state. "Yeah, behind us," was all he could say.

Amy, who'd been looking at Mike, looked at Steve. "Good. I hope they fry him. I'll gladly spring for the electricity." She squirmed a little in her chair, trying to shift her weight to the right side of her body. She looked back up at Mike. "You must be Mike," she said, extending her right hand out to him. "I'm Amy Johnson. You've probably heard of me."

Mike shook her hand. "Of course I have. Say, I'm sorry about all that…"

Amy cut him off. "Don't be silly. It's okay. I'm glad he'll be going away for a long time. The sooner, the better. That way, like you said, we can all put this behind us." She stood up. "I should be the one apologizing anyway. You probably think I've been taking up all of Steve's time on something that isn't even a case."

"Why don't you guys come in here?" Mike said, indicating his office.

The two walked into Mike's office. "Sit down," he told Amy. She sat down in the chair across from Mike. Steve took his usual spot on the table beside Mike's desk. Mike looked at Amy. "I am glad to finally meet you after hearing so much about you."

Amy chuckled nervously. "Hopefully it was good. I'm really not crazy."

Mike laughed. "Well then you're with the wrong crowd. We're all a little crazy around here."

Amy laughed. "But really, I'm sorry if Steve made you think there was a lot to these accidents. They probably are just accidents. I guess."

Mike put his hand on Steve's shoulder. "Let me tell you something about this guy that you may not know. He's got good instincts. At first, I was like you, not sure there was anything more to this, but he convinced me otherwise. So don't think you're wasting our time, okay?"

Amy smiled at them both.

Steve leaned over and whispered, "I told you so." He then took the book from her and showed it to Mike. "Remember I told you that the Duncan's daughter had a book of secrets? Got ahold of it, and my translator is here to tell us what's in it."

Mike put on his glasses, sat on the corner of his desk, and looked at the book. "Translator?"

"That's me. Steve doesn't know kidspeak, so he can't read it." She looked at Mike. "Do you have kids?"

"I do," Mike said. "Although Jeannie is a little bit older than this."

"I still bet you can read it," Amy told him.

Mike started looking through pages. After reading one, he began laughing.

Steve looked at him in disbelief, then looked at the page. "Don't tell me you can read that?"

"You can't?" he asked Steve. "It says, "Daddy brought the dog in the house but Mommy yelled swear words at him and told him to send the mutt back to where it came from. Mutt must be the dog's name."

Amy laughed. "Oh, I remember that. Carl found a stray puppy and brought it home for Jasmine. Janice had a fit because a dog would mess up her house."

Steve looked at both of them. "You guys are conspiring against me, aren't you?"

Amy stood up and stood next to Mike. "I guess someone in the room needs a lesson on kids."

"Yeah, you better get on that, Buddy Boy," Mike said, laughing.

Steve looked at Amy. "Thanks a lot."

She smiled at him. Mike watched both of them and grinned to himself.

Then came a knock at the door. Inspector Tanner came in with papers in his hand. "Mike, here are the results on that tea you sent down last week." He handed Mike the papers.

"Thanks, Bill" Mike said as Tanner started to leave the office. He stopped and turned back around. "Oh, and there's a guy named Norman Jennison coming up to talk to you guys." He left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Norman the accountant?" Amy asked.

"Mmm hmm," Mike said, now reading the lab results. "Well, that's interesting."

"There was tea in those tea bags?" Steve quipped.

"There was. However, there was also something called mexasofaline."

"What tea bags?" Amy asked.

"The ones Mike found in Carl's office," Steve quickly told her. "What is that? I've never heard of it," he then asked Mike

Mike flipped a page. "Says here it's a chemical that when mixed with liquid and ingested, causes the drinker's heart to stop. It mimics a heart attack and is not easily detectable because it eliminates itself from the body quickly." Mike quickly got on the phone and called the coroner's office, telling Bernie to check for this chemical in Carl's Duncan's blood.

Amy, in the meantime, felt sick to her stomach. She sat down and stared straight ahead. Steve looked at her and knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Hey, you get that thought out of your head right now," he said, almost scolding her. He knelt down in front of her chair.

"What thought? The thought that I was the one who gave him that tea? That because of that, I killed him? That thought?" She was on the verge of tears again.

"Yeah, that's the one."

Mike got off the phone and started watching them.

"Let me ask you something," Steve started. "Did you put that in the tea bags?"

Amy shook her head.

"Then end of discussion. Now stop crying. You won't have any tears left soon enough." He wiped the tears that had escaped her eyes off her cheeks.

Mike watched Steve trying to comfort Amy and smiled. Any doubts he'd had about the two quickly vanished after only this short display.

"Did the report say that all the bags were laced with that stuff?" Steve asked Mike.

Mike picked up the report and read through it. "Yes, they all tested positive for mexasofaline."

"I'd just bought that box," Amy said.

Steve looked at her. "Where?"

"At the grocery store where I always bought it. It's a couple blocks from their house."

"When?"

Amy tried to remember, but came up blank. "I have no idea. I just remember having to take the little sticker off the lid to get the box open."

"Alright, so we need to figure out where that box came from and who had access to it," Mike said. He got back on the phone and called the lab, asking them to check the box for fingerprints, most importantly ones inside the box. He then looked up and saw Bill Tanner coming back toward his office. The man entered and informed Mike and Steve that Norman was waiting in an interview room.

"We'll work this out after we talk to him," Mike said, heading for the door. He looked at Amy. "Why don't you stay in here and make yourself comfortable? We'll be right back."

Amy nodded.

Steve stood up and ran out the door, grabbed the legal pad he had given her earlier off his desk, and ran back in the office. "Can you do something for me?" he asked a still visibly shaken Amy. "Try to remember everything you can about when you bought that tea. No matter how trivial it may seem, write it down. Even the littlest thing might help us figure out what happened."

"Okay, yeah, I'll try," she said quietly, taking the pad from Steve.

"That's my girl. I'll be right back and not far away." Steve kissed her on the forehead and followed Mike to the interview room.

Amy sat for awhile, trying to process her thoughts. Her brain was stuck on the fact that she gave Carl the tea that killed him. Steve was right, she didn't put this weird chemical in the tea, and she certainly didn't know it was in there, but still, she gave it to him, so her mind had no other way to translate that but to say, "You're a murderer." She stood up from the chair and walked around Mike's desk. She got under it so no one could see her and bawled.

* * *

"Mr. Jennison, thanks for coming in," Mike said as he and Steve walked into the interview room. Mike sat down at the table across from the well-dressed accountant while Steve chose to stand in the background.

"I'm afraid I'm not 100% sure what this has to do with me," Norman said. "I was under the impression that Carl died of a heart attack."

"We're just tying up some loose ends, that's all. Some, how should I say this, inconsistencies came up along the way, and your input could be very valuable," Mike said. He opened the folder he brought in with him. "One thing we noticed was the amount of large deposits and withdrawals going in and out of their accounts recently. Normally, I wouldn't care what they did with their money, but when a possible crime is involved, I get curious. Care to shed some light on what this money is going to?" Mike asked.

At first, the accountant didn't say anything. Then he asked if he needed a lawyer. Mike, trying to dissuade him, told him only if he'd done something wrong. The man then sat for a little longer, contemplating his next move.

"Does Janice have to know?" he asked.

"Whatever you say in here is just between us," Mike assured him.

The man gulped. "Now, I don't know this for a fact, but I have a feeling she was blackmailing someone."

Mike and Steve stared at him. "Blackmail?" Steve asked, thinking this sounded quite odd.

"She'd bring me these checks to have me deposit them into her account. They were written on an account from the Cayman Islands, and I could never find out who owned it. I deposited the checks and the funds were always there, but I was weary of what was going on. I'd tried to ask her about them because I thought maybe...well…" He trailed off and suddenly went silent.

"You thought maybe what?" Steve asked, annoyed.

"Maybe that someone found out about the affair."

Steve wondered if that would come up again. "Whose affair?" he asked Norman.

"Mine and Janice's," he said, looking down at the table as if he were embarrassed.

Steve shook his head.

"I'm a little confused. You think someone found out about your affair with Janice, yet they are paying her? I'm not really a blackmail expert, but doesn't it usually go the other way?" Mike asked. He smelled something fishy.

"I...She would never tell me where that money came from! I also thought maybe it had something to do with the shelter Carl was building, but Janice had nothing to do with that; that was between him and a Dr. Caldwell. Carl could have given Janice the checks to give to me. Carl was always so busy and never at home. He cared more about his job and that shelter than he did his family. I wanted Janice to divorce him, but as long as he kept her living in luxury, she wasn't leaving."

Mike shook his head. He wasn't sure what to expect when he started this interview, but a domestic mess was not it. "Would you have been persuaded enough to try and eliminate Carl from the picture so that Janice wouldn't have to worry about a divorce?" he asked.

Norman was taken aback. "You think I would kill Carl? The man may have been a lousy husband and God only knows what else, but Janice Duncan is not worth killing a man over. Don't tell her I said that though. I mean, she's…I didn't kill anyone. I liked Carl. He was very devoted to his work and the kids he helped. This shelter he was building was for runaways and other kids with nowhere to go. The project will suffer now that he's gone; I know because I invested in it myself. Killing him would mean throwing away half a million dollars of my own money. I'd rather he had lived to be two hundred than lose that kind of investment."

Mike let out a sigh. "Do you drink tea, Mr. Jennison?"

Norman gave him a confused look. "Well, no actually. I much prefer coffee. Janice is the tea drinker. She buys some imported stuff from China. It costs a fortune, but she claims it keeps her looking young."

Steve rolled his eyes.

Mike stood up and, thanking Norman for coming in, showed the man to the door. Steve wandered out into the squadroom after Mike. "Was that a waste of time, or…"

"No, not necessarily," Mike said. "I don't think he had anything to do with Carl's death - he's much too concerned with money - but Janice Duncan still may have. Divorcing him may have cost her, but if he died, she'd likely cash in on a large life insurance policy. We should also find out about this Dr. Caldwell. It may lead nowhere, but we don't know until we try. We also need to find out who has access to this...whatever it was called. Would someone like Janice Duncan be able to get her hands on it?"

"Care to pile anything more on me or is that enough?" Steve teased.

"That's enough for now." He smiled at his partner. "Start with the lab; ask them where to get that chemical or who'd have access."

Steve headed to his desk, and Mike headed back to his office.

* * *

Amy took a deep breath and crawled out from underneath Mike's desk. She grabbed a tissue from her purse and tried to wipe the teary mess off her face. She threw the tissue in the garbage and sat down in Mike's chair.

"Okay, now this is stupid. You know you didn't kill him, and Steve knows you didn't kill him...so get it together." She took another deep breath and looked at the pad of paper. She looked around and saw a pen, and grabbing it, started writing down what she could remember about the day she went shopping. The day was sketchy, but she hoped if she wrote some things down, other things would come to her.

"Going to the store...why did I go to the store instead of the maid that day?" she thought out loud. "Because...it was raining. No, that was a few weeks ago. Because...she was busy with something for Janice? No, that was only to buy cleaning supplies. Because….she was sick? That's it, she was sick. She had that terrible headache and begged me to go to the store for her because Janice just had to have maraschino cherries and cocktail onions for her party that night. Yeah, and that party was the night before Carl died."

Amy wrote all that on the paper in a hurry before she forgot it. "Okay, I bought cherries and onions and some other stuff on the list." She closed her eyes, trying to picture the list in her mind. "Tea was written at the bottom in Carl's handwriting. Yeah, so I knew it was the kind of tea he liked and Janice didn't." She wrote more.

"Okay, so I'm walking around the store trying to find the damn cocktail onions. I have no idea where those things are and Jasmine is driving me crazy begging for candy bars." She snapped her fingers. "Jasmine was with me. She was in the brattiest, most annoying mood. Wouldn't take no for an answer, and I was not about to let her buy anything." Amy furiously wrote all this down, feeling like the floodgates holding her memory back were finally opening.

She stood up and started wandering around the office. "Where did I go from there?" She started miming taking things off store shelves. "Cherries, check. Onions, check." Closing her eyes again, she saw more of what was written on the list between cherries and onions and the tea. "Tortilla chips...crackers. Yeah, I stood in the cracker aisle forever just staring at boxes of crackers because Janice didn't put what kind she wanted and I didn't dare get the wrong ones. Jasmine was constantly bringing me cookies she wanted from the other side of the aisle." Amy paused and wrote all this down.

She closed her eyes again. "Nothing else on the list but the tea, so I physically drag Jasmine away from the cookies to the tea aisle. She's putting up a fight. I get to the tea and search the shelves for the one I want. I grab it and put it in the basket. I turn around and Jasmine is running away, so I yell at her to come back. I give her a talking to before leaving the aisle to check out." As she continued to write, she took the uneventful trip back home, not really remembering anything helpful.

* * *

Mike came back into the office after his interview with Norman. He saw Amy sitting at his desk, writing her day out. "Remember anything?" he asked.

Amy shrugged. "I don't know how useful it is. I did remember that it was the day before Carl died though." She handed Mike the tablet.

He began reading all that she had written down so far. Amy stood up and looked out his inside office window, seeing Steve sitting at his desk making the call to the lab. She walked around Mike's desk and over to the door, closing it. She looked at Mike. "Can I ask you something...not related to the case? Well, not completely related...maybe a little…"

Mike, sitting on the corner of his desk, put the notepad down and looked at Amy. "Of course. What's bothering you?"

Amy sat down in the guest chair. "I don't know that it's bothering me...well, yes it is, but then what hasn't bothered me lately? A week ago I thought I was just a jinx that caused people to die. Now suddenly I'm in the middle of a murder and I have no idea who to trust. My whole life is suddenly upside down. I guess my mind is just desperate for something that will put it right side up again." She turned around and looked back at Steve to make sure he was still busy. "You know him better than I do. Is this...normal?"

Mike had a feeling he knew what she was talking about, but he didn't want to just assume. "This?"

Amy stood up and started pacing the floor. "Steve taking such an interest in a...what am I, a victim or a suspect?"

"You're certainly not a suspect, so I guess that leaves victim."

Amy smiled. "Thanks. Don't think I'm sounding ungrateful or anything, I just...want to know before I get my heart broken...is it guilt? Does he feel so guilty that I got shot that he thinks he owes me or something? I know he feels like he should have done things differently, but...I'm afraid I'll wake up one day and realize he was just being nice and easing his conscious. I got too far into this to take that very well."

Mike knew right then that Steve hadn't come completely clean with Amy about what the two had talked about the day before. He wondered if Steve had mentioned it to her at all. "Sit down."

Amy sat down and started nervously playing with her hair.

"Which would you like, my professional opinion as a detective, or my professional opinion on Steve?"

Amy shrugged. "The one that gives me good news?"

Mike chuckled. "I know he feels like there were things that he could have done different; I think we all go through a period of that kind of thinking after something like that happens. This, though...you...you're different."

"Is that a good thing?" Amy asked, not knowing how to interpret that.

"It is. He worries about you, he's protective of you, he wants to make you happy. I've never seen him quite like that with anyone else, guilt or no guilt."

Amy looked at Mike. "But you're worried about him. You're worried he's in danger because I just seem to attract it. God…" She trailed off, thinking that she could be putting Steve in serious danger just by association. "I could get him killed. What have I done?"

Mike could see she was starting to get lost in her own worry, so he tried to reel her back in. "Actually, I didn't even think of that. You're always in a little danger in this job, so you start to expect it and not think about it from day to day."

"But you are worried."

Steve walked into Mike's office before the man had a chance to answer and saw Amy looking contemplative and worried. "What is going on?" he asked, wondering what he'd missed.

"I'm doing what you asked; I'm trying to remember the day I bought the tea," Amy quickly told him.

"Oh." Steve grabbed the paper pad off the desk and started reading it.

"Where was I?" she said, trying to get her mind off her and Steve and back onto the tea trip. "Oh, I pulled the car into the driveway. Jasmine hopped out and ran into the house. I grabbed the grocery sacks from the back seat and took the stuff to the kitchen. I started taking the groceries out of the bag and putting them away." She paused and got this weird look on her face.

"What is it?" Steve asked.

"I remember taking the tea box out of the sack and noticing it was blue. Carl liked the stuff in the green box. I stood there and swore I grabbed the green box, but Jasmine had been distracting me, so maybe I grabbed the wrong one by mistake. Maybe if I would have grabbed a different one, this wouldn't have happened."

Mike turned to Steve. "Did the lab tell you anything?"

"Yeah. That stuff is not easy to get ahold of. It only has one pharmaceutical application, and that's in a cream used to help severe burns heal. The cream is prescription only and the substance, which is a powder in its pure form, is highly guarded because of this other use."

"Other use? The murdering use?" Mike asked.

"Yep. When a certain amount of this is mixed in a liquid and ingested, it turns extremely toxic in the body. There have been several cases involving this stuff lately, though this is apparently the first in San Francisco."

"Okay, so who could get ahold of enough of this powder to put it in tea bags and somehow get the bags into the Duncan's house?"

"Anyone with access to a pharmacy, or a lab that makes drugs…" Steve said, thinking out loud.

"A pharmacy student," Amy suddenly blurted out.

Both men looked at her. "Well, yeah," Steve uttered.

"Sorry, you just said pharmacy and lab and...Paul is, or was anyway, a pharmacy student at UCSF. I remember him telling me a couple times that he had access to all these volatile chemicals and drugs and...well, anyway, you could look there too. I'm going to go get some fresh air if that's okay." She walked to the door and out of Mike's office.

Steve walked after her. Out in the hallway, Steve walked up beside her. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked.

She kept walking. "I, uh, yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I'm just sort of tired and you guys are busy, so I just thought I'd get out of the way for a few minutes."

Steve put his arm around her and walked with her. "I'd ask you if you're okay with the lead you just gave us, but it's obvious you're not."

Amy looked at the floor. "I know I said it, and I know that I said he worries me, but a murderer? What on earth would he gain from killing Carl Duncan?" She looked at Steve, her eyes watery. "He didn't even know the man. It makes absolutely no sense." She paused for a bit. "So then why did I bring it up?"

"I guess something in your subconscious is worried enough to tell me. We may look into him and find nothing. There are a lot of pharmacists and chemists in this city. Some of them may have known Carl and hated him. Janice may have had something to do with it. But…"

"But there's always a possibility that Karen's always been right, that something was off about him and I didn't want to see it."

Steve stopped walking and turned her around to face him. "You did see it. You just didn't know what you saw until now. But hey, let's not jump to any conclusions until we get more evidence than just maybes and might haves. Don't give yourself an ulcer prematurely. Go downstairs, get some air, come back, and we'll go through the journal together. I still have a feeling there's something in there we can use."

Amy pushed the elevator down button. Before it arrived, she turned around and gave Steve a hug. "Some day I hope to look at you without looking through a veil of tears," she told him. She then let go and got on the elevator.

Steve went back to wondering if he'd walked in on something tense between her and Mike.

* * *

"No, you've been very helpful. Thank you," Steve said before hanging up the phone. He walked into Mike's office. "Insurance company is sending over the Duncan's life insurance policy, but I don't think it's going to be much of a motive."

"Why not?" Mike asked.

"In the event of Carl Duncan's death, Janice Duncan receives nothing. His life insurance payout all goes to Dr. Caldwell and the trust the two of them had set up for the shelter he was building. According to the trust, that money can only be used to house, feed, and clothe any child living at the shelter. Carl dies, Janice goes broke basically. I called Norman and asked him about it, and it sounds like she knew and didn't care. I took the mess down to the guys in fraud to see if they could sort it out, but I don't think it's going to be pertinent to our case."

At that moment, Captain Olsen and D.A. O'Brien came into Mike's office. He was surprised to see the two. "Don't tell me the grand jury hearing is over already," he told them.

Olsen closed the door. "Mike, Steve, I wanted to make sure you two knew the news before it hit the media." He had a very serious look on his face, as did O'Brien.

"What happened?" Mike asked, concerned.

O'Brien started to explain. "Milani has been causing a ruckus ever since he was brought downstairs. Other inmates have been complaining left and right. Well, sometime last night he got the bright idea to try and kill himself in his cell. All he really managed to do was gash his head open pretty good. Guards found him this morning bleeding, so they transported him to the ward at General. As he was getting out of the ambulance, he was shot and killed. This all happened before I even entered the courtroom this morning."

Both Steve and Mike's jaws dropped. "Shot outside the hospital?" Mike asked in disbelief.

Olsen nodded. "Looks like from a sniper from one of the surrounding buildings. We've got men crawling all over that area looking for evidence. From what I've been told, it was definitely not a shot within close range."

"It was a hit? Who would have known he was going to even be there?" Steve asked.

"Don't know yet. Hopefully that will be answered once we find the shooter," Olsen said.

Mike started to get up like he was going out to investigate, but Olsen stopped him. "Mike, we have enough guys out there right now. I don't want either one of you on this case. You've done enough on the Milani case already."

While Mike tried to argue with his superior, Amy came back into the squadroom. She saw the four men in Mike's office behind the closed door, so she sat down at Steve's desk. She thought she could read some more of the journal while she waited, but she soon realized that it was still in Mike's office, so she sat and tried to watch what was going on without anyone seeing her being snoopy. Olsen and O'Brien had their backs to her, but she could sort of see Mike and Steve. Mike was arguing with Olsen, and Amy wondered what had gotten him so riled up. She tried reading lips, but couldn't make anything out.

While Mike tried to get in on the case, Steve's mind went somewhere else. It started adding things up. Milani's death was no accident, and Carl Duncan's was turning out not to be one either. Those two, along with all the other "accidents" that Steve had not gotten a chance to look into, had one common denominator - Amy. Coincidence, at that moment, flew out the window.

"What if our case is connected to this?" Steve interrupted.

"How so?" Olsen asked.

Steve turned and looked out the closed door. He saw Amy sitting at his desk. "Milani's last victim." He quickly grabbed the journal, opened the door, and left the office.

Amy could tell right away that something had happened while she was gone. "What's going on?" she asked Steve.

"Let's go for a walk," was all he said. He grabbed his jacket, and Amy followed him out to the hallway.

Olsen asked Mike what Steve was even talking about. Not really knowing himself, Mike was left to come up with an explanation that would hopefully not only make sense, but also prompt his superior to allow the two to join the case.


	16. Chapter 16

All the way to the first floor and out of the building, Steve held on to Amy's hand tightly. When they got outside, Steve led her toward the back of the building and away from people as much as he could. He chose a spot behind a tree.

"What the hell is going on, Steve? You've got me worried sick," she told him once they'd stopped walking.

He took a deep breath. "I have something I need to tell you, and I know exactly how you're going to react, so I want to be the one to tell you this before you find out some other way."

Amy swallowed hard. "Who's dead?"

"What makes you think…"

"Every time someone in the last two years has said something like this to me, it was always followed by the name of a person who just died. Don't tell me this is different."

Steve looked at the ground. "It's not. It's Milani."

Amy stared at him. "The man who shot me? He's dead?"

Steve nodded, trying to figure out her reaction so he could be ahead of it.

"How?" she asked.

"He was shot this morning."

"Hmm. That's appropriate." Amy let go of Steve's hand and started wandering around. "I wonder how I managed to pull this one off? I had contact with the guy for what, a minute, maybe two? My jinx powers are getting awfully strong all of a sudden! Maybe the larger the crime, the worse the accident?"

"Amy, this was no accident. Whoever shot Milani was aiming right for him. There was no, 'Oops, my gun went off and the bullet just happened to hit him' going on here. You had absolutely nothing to do with this, and I know that for a fact because you were with me all morning."

"But…" she tried to argue, but Steve quickly cut her off.

"But nothing," Steve interrupted. "All those deaths that you said were your fault were all accidents, right? Except they weren't. This wasn't! Carl's death wasn't! I'm going to go back upstairs and look into all the others you told me about, and I have a feeling I'm going to discover they weren't either! Someone is out there killing people, and we're going to find out why and put them away. But it _wasn't you_."

Amy looked at the ground and then back up at Steve. "Alright, for argument's sake, let's say you're right. Something sinister is going on here. But I'm still involved. I knew every single one of those people and now they've all been murdered. So what, someone is out there killing people to spite me? To frame me? To make me feel like dying myself?" She looked up at the sky. "Guess what?" she shouted. "You're doing a really good job! If you quit now, I'll kill _myself_ to save humanity!"

That last line bothered Steve immensely. He walked over to Amy and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "Don't you _ever_ say that again, not even as a joke." He felt like he was now on the verge of tears. The thought of her committing suicide scared the hell out of him because he knew she had the mindset to try.

"Who's joking? Think about it, Steve. Everyone around me is dying because...I don't know why. So am I eventually going to end up all alone? Everyone I've ever known and loved is going to be dead. But I guess I'll just sit around and wonder who's going to be next until everyone is gone, and then I can finally join them. Who will it be? My mom? Karen? You?" Tears ran down Amy's face.

"I'm not going anywhere. What reason would someone have to kill me anyway?"

"What reason did any of them have to die?" she asked quietly. "If they really want to get to me, they'll get to you next. And that means there's only one thing I can do."

"What?" Steve asked, worried she was going to do something drastic.

"Leave California. Get as far away from here and everyone as I can."

"Leave? What good is that going to do?" Steve asked, almost outraged that she would do such a thing.

"Save your life! If I'm not around, this...person...won't have any reason to want you dead."

"No one has a reason to want me dead now! I've been around you for a week and have never felt like I was in any danger even once, so I highly doubt I ever will be."

"Then why is your partner so worried about it?"

Steve looked at her as if she suddenly started speaking a foreign language. "Mike? Worried about my safety? What are you talking about?"

"He didn't come right out and say it, but I can tell that he's worried about you being with me. He was trying to be nice and spare my feelings by telling me he didn't even think about you getting hurt around me, but I could see it written on his face; he's afraid you're going to end up dead just like everyone else," Amy said through tears. "I couldn't live with that...with myself...if I let that happen."

Steve ran his hands from her shoulders down to her hands. "You are not letting anything bad happen to me...unless you leave. Then I'll be pretty upset, and yes, it would be your fault. So you have to stay, even if it's just to selfishly make me happy."

Amy just shook her head. "I can't. I can't take that chance. I couldn't live through having to bury you." She took her hands out of Steve's and started backing away. She turned around and started to walk away from him.

Steve tried to grab at her but missed; she was walking away too quickly. "But you can live with just leaving and never coming back?" he shouted after her. "Because I can't! I won't stand here and just let you walk away without a fight."

Amy stopped walking but did not turn around. "At least you'll still be alive! Besides, you'll get over it. Guys like you always do."

Steve had no idea what to say; he was entirely too hurt. "Guys like me?" He paused before getting angry and saying, "Yeah, you're right. I'll just get over you like you were never here. Amy who?" He forced out a laugh. "Oh look, there's a woman over there. Maybe I'll just go see what she's doing tonight. Damn, this moving on thing is so easy."

Amy just wanted to collapse into a ball and cry until she passed out - his words stung even though she sensed the sarcasm behind them - but she instead turned around and looked at Steve. "It's only been a week...and I'm not worth it."

Steve walked up to her. "Maybe you're right. Maybe you're not worth it. Maybe all I'd be doing is setting myself up for the worst relationship I've ever been in. I mean, you are pretty high maintenance, what with all this damn baggage you carry around. And the constant crying. God, is that annoying! I think you're right; I think you _should_ leave, because I would hate to die because of you."

Amy bit her bottom lip and tried to keep breathing.

"That's what you're thinking, isn't it? That's the person you think you are, right?" Steve said, changing his tone.

"Because it's true…" she softly said until Steve cut her off.

"It is not! I don't care if I've only known you a week or a month or your whole life! You are nothing like that! I don't know who the hell ever convinced you otherwise, but I'll go kill them myself for hurting you so badly." He took her face in his hands. "I have been in love with you since the moment I saw you in that cemetery, looking a lot like you do now. I watched you standing there, miserable and alone, and all I could think about was making you happy. Half the reason I feel so guilty about how Milani's arrest went down is because I was preoccupied with you and not with the case. There, I finally said it. I feel like I'm responsible for your getting shot because I was desperate to talk to you before you left the cemetery and I never saw you again."

Amy's mind, in a state of turmoil, promptly misinterpreted Steve's sentiment. "I do that a lot - make people do bad things, like murder. This is why I need to leave. If I'm not around, you won't accidentally get yourself killed on account of me."

Steve took his hands off her face, turned around, and walked away. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Is that what you want? I thought we had something here, but maybe I've gotten bad at reading women. Fine. If you want to walk away and be miserable, and I know you will be, then go ahead. But know that I'll be just as miserable as you and won't care if I do die."

"God no, I don't want to leave, but I see no other…"

Before she could finish her sentence, Steve grabbed her arm and pulled her close to him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed her with a desperation he'd never felt before. His unconscious mind had decided that day at the cemetery that he needed this girl in his life and at this moment, his conscious mind realized it too. He could not let her walk away without trying everything he could to make her stay. He hadn't intended their first kiss to be like this: not in this situation, not with this much sadness, not with so much at stake, but while he kissed her, he couldn't help but think it was nothing short of perfect. She was in pain, he was in pain, and now together, they were taking each other's pain away.

Amy, completely blindsided by Steve's reaction, didn't fight back. Instead, she slowly wrapped her arms around his neck and let herself melt in his arms. All the pain and misery she'd felt in the last few minutes and days disappeared as if Steve had just blinked his eyes and made it go away with nothing more than the power of love. It was a feeling she didn't want to disappear. It was calmness.

The deeply passionate kiss seemed to linger forever, with neither one anxious to be the one to pull away from the other. The feel of their skin against each other's was comforting. The salty taste of the tears they'd shed told each just what this display of affection was for: love. No one cries over someone they don't love...and they don't leave, either.

Eventually, Steve was the first to withdraw from the embrace. "If you still want to leave...go ahead," Steve told Amy before fully pulling his lips away from hers.

Amy, her eyes still closed, felt faint. Her heart was beating so hard she could feel it from the top of her head to the bottom of her feet. "I don't think I can now," she whispered.

Steve wrapped himself around her and laid his head on hers. "Good. Don't threaten to again or I'll have to resort to more drastic measures."

Amy laughed a nervous, excited giggle of a teenager who'd just gotten kissed for the first time by the boy she'd had a crush on for years. "Now you're going to make me want to run away every day." She rolled her eyes, thinking what she'd just said sounded stupid.

Steve picked up his head and looked at her. "And I'll stop you every time. Are we okay now?"

Amy nodded and brushed a tear away from Steve's eye with her fingers. "This is going to be over soon, isn't it? Trading in thinking that I cause people to die for having someone out there that's killing people I know is a shitty trade off."

"Trust me, if I could make it all go away in an instant, I would. You're pretty when you're frowning, but you're prettier when you smile."

That made Amy smile. "Thanks, but you're not giving yourself much credit. You've already taken some away." Then she winked at him.

This time he laughed. "I do have that effect on women."

"Women?"

"Ooo, jealousy. I like it."

Amy stuck her tongue out at him and wiped some of her own stray tears off her face.

"Well, if we want to make this hell go away, I better get back to work. I'm sure Mike thinks I fell in a black hole by now."

"Can I go back to worrying about you losing your job?" Amy asked jokingly.

Steve just gave her a look that said _don't start with that again._ "I'll tell you what." He pulled out of their embrace and got his car keys out of one jacket pocket and Jasmine's journal out of another. He handed both items to Amy. "Take my car and go home. Read the journal or take a nap or, whatever. I'll come by after work.."

Amy looked down at the keys. "You're letting my drive your Porsche?"

"Yeah, why not? Or, you're not going to get into that whole, 'It's too fancy for me to touch' thing again, are you? Honey, it's just a car. I trust you."

Amy nervously chuckled again, this time because he'd called her 'Honey'. "You've never even seen me drive. I could be the worst driver in the world. I could not have a license."

"Well I know that's a lie. I saw your license."

Amy looked at him, wondering how since she'd never shown it to him.

"I looked you up once. It's one of the perks of being a cop."

Amy scrunched her nose up at him. "Thanks a lot. Now you know how much I told the DMV I weigh."

Steve smiled. "There's that levity I knew you had in you. Go home and rest, please? Get all the thoughts of leaving or dying out of your head. I'll see you tonight." He leaned over and kissed her again before turning to walk away.

Amy called out after him. "Is it wrong to be happy in a miserable situation?" she asked.

He turned back to her. "I think it's our whole relationship."

* * *

Steve stormed into the squadroom and made a beeline for his desk. He grabbed some paper and began furiously writing on several pieces. Once he was done, he went into Mike's office and started spreading the sheets across his desk.

Mike was on the phone telling someone on the other end that he expected to be updated every time something new developed in the sniper case. He hung up and looked down at Steve's project. "What is this?"

"Each paper has the name of someone who died and how. These people all have one thing in common - Amy. She knew them all and somehow, their deaths are on her."

Mike looked at Steve in disbelief. "You don't think she…"

Steve shook his head. "That's not what I meant." He reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out the picture of Paul and the girls that he'd taken from Amy's apartment. He threw it down in the middle of the desk. "This guy. He's my main suspect. I think he's killing these people to somehow get at Amy."

Mike looked at the picture. "Who is he?"

"Paul Carpenter. He's a childhood friend of Amy's. Mike, the guy gives off creepy vibes. You should have seen the look he gave me when I first met him. It was like he hated me just for being in her apartment. He's way overprotective of her and has this unnatural hatred of the police. Fortunately, Amy told him I was just a college friend so he doesn't know I'm one of 'them'."

"The guy Amy mentioned was a pharmacy student. You think this guy had motive to kill all these people?" Mike asked with doubt in his voice.

"I don't know the motives yet, but I have a feeling something is there."

"And the means? You can't tell me that guy is a sniper _and_ a pharmacist."

"I didn't say it was a perfect theory, but he's the best suspect I've got right now. If something else presents itself, fine, but I'm pursuing this guy."

Mike took in what Steve said. "Okay, go with it. See if this guy had access to the mexa...whatever it is first, then figure out motives and alibis. Right now I'm going to head down to the hospital and see what is going on. Those guys need a fire lit under them."

"Olsen let you in on it?" Steve asked.

"Benefit of outranking most people involved."

"Want me to come with?"

Mike shook his head. "No, you've got plenty to keep you busy there," he said, pointing to the mess Steve had made on his desk. "Besides, you're a little close to this, so I'm going to keep you out of it as much as I can."

Steve was prepared to argue, but he understood exactly what Mike meant. If there were prying eyes around, Steve was not involved, but if not, it was still his case. "Fair enough."

Mike grabbed his coat and hat and walked out the door.

Steve stood and stared at his pile. He then looked at the picture of Paul. To find motives, he'd have to get into this guy's head, a thought that actually frightened him a bit. Unfortunately, to do this, he'd have to ask Amy about him since she was the expert in this instance, and he wasn't quite sure how to approach that conversation. He thought for a second, and then picked up the phone and made reservations at a fancy restaurant. The stress would be eased with a little wine and romantic atmosphere.

* * *

Tanner walked into the squadroom with a box. He walked over to Steve's desk. "Hey, Keller, I sure hope this mess is yours. It doesn't have a name on it, and no one else claims it." He set the box on the desk.

Steve looked at it. "Where's it from?"

"Thousand Oaks PD. Ring any bells?"

Steve nodded. "That's mine. Thanks."

Tanner walked away and Steve cut his way into his delivery. Inside were copies of all the files the Thousand Oaks Police had on Glen Johnson's death. He'd requested the stuff the week before in case it became necessary, and now he was glad he did. If he was going to get to the bottom of this case, he might as well start with the first murder. Maybe finding out the motive to this would open up the rest of the case.

Steve sat down and started combing through the paperwork. Notes from the paramedics, the hospital, and the medical examiner did not really yield anything he didn't already know. Amy'd told him that the autopsy indicated that her father had hit his head somewhere, but there was no real indication of where. The medical examiner suggested a flat surface as opposed to a blunt object or something with a corner. Steve tried to think of places a person could hit their head without anyone knowing. He thought of a fall and hitting the ground, or somehow hitting a wall. He looked through all the paperwork, but nothing gave any indication as to where the man had been or what he'd been doing. Amy had already said she and her mother didn't know, so who would?

Steve started looking through the papers for a phone number. He found one of Glen's business cards on the bottom of the box and dialed the number. If anyone knew of a man's affairs, it was his secretary.

"Good afternoon, Johnson, Arnold, & Romano. How may I direct your call?" a pleasant female voice said on the other end of the line.

"I need to speak with Mr. Johnson's secretary," Steve said.

The receptionist transferred his call to an older lady, who also answered pleasantly. Steve told her who he was and the reason for his call.

"I am so glad someone is paying attention in this world!" the lady told him.

"I beg your pardon?" Steve had no idea what she was talking about.

"I had this feeling that there was something more than just a simple accident going on here. Call it women's intuition, but I just knew it. The police down here wouldn't listen though. They kept telling me there was no evidence, but how would they know if they never looked or listened to me? I may have a few gray hairs on my head, but I am certainly not senile."

Steve laughed. This was going to be an interesting conversation. "Well, I'm listening, so if you have something you think is important, I'd love it if you told me."

"Glen was not some klutz who was always running into doors like the police here tried to tell me. No, something had to have made him hit his head hard enough to do that kind of damage."

"Do you know of anyone who'd want to hurt him? Did he have any enemies?"

"Glen? Heavens no! Even though he was a lawyer, people loved him. You probably know that feeling, Inspector."

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean."

"There was one incident a couple days before Glen died. I'm not sure if it has anything to do with his death, though."

"Tell me anyway," Steve told the lady.

"Well, around five, a friend of his daughter Amy's came into the office. You know, his daughter lives up there in San Francisco. Glen was so proud of her wanting to try something new by moving out of LA. Her mother, not so much. Lots of stress there, especially after Amy decided to leave despite her father's passing. Glen would have wanted her to go. Have you met her? She's a sweet girl."

Steve smiled. "Yeah, we've met."

"She's everything I said she is, isn't she?"

"Yes, yes she is." Steve would have been annoyed by this woman going off on a tangent if they weren't talking about how wonderful the woman he loved was.

"So the guy comes in and wants to talk to Glen. I was getting ready to go home for the weekend, but Glen never leaves at five, so I tell him Paul is here to see him."

Steve cringed. "Paul?"

"Yes, Paul Carpenter. His family lives next door to the Johnsons and have for years. He and Amy were friends. I'll be honest - I never understood that friendship, but Amy was nice to everyone and they were neighbors. Anyway, Glen never liked the young man for some reason. I don't think he trusted him around Amy. I don't know why; he seemed like an okay man, just a little odd."

"Glen didn't like Paul?" Steve asked for clarification.

"No, he really didn't. I actually think that was one reason he was happy that Amy wanted to go to school in San Francisco, because she'd get away from Paul. It ended up not working as Paul transferred up there just after Amy did."

"To the U of C, San Francisco?"

"Uh huh. He wanted to be a pharmacist. As I was leaving, the two of them were behind closed doors and it sounded like they were arguing. It wasn't loud enough for me to hear, and I had an engagement to get to or I would have listened at the door."

"But you're sure they were arguing?"

"Positive. The doors in this office are pretty thick, so you can't normally hear anything at my desk when Glen's door is closed. I could hear voices, just not what they were saying."

Steve thought for a second, then asked the lady if she could do him a favor. "I want you to, when you get a chance, go into his office and look around for any clue of a struggle that Glen might have left behind. Anything that looks like he might have hit his head on it."

"I'll try. Glen was a very neat person. If something had been knocked over, he surely would have picked it up before leaving."

"Well, for my sake, I hope he missed something. If you do find something, or even if you don't, call me back and let me know," Steve told the secretary before giving her his phone number and hanging up. He stood up and walked into Mike's office, where he'd left the papers of the casualties. He picked up the one that said 'Glen Johnson.' On the bottom, he wrote, _Motive: Did not like Paul. Opportunity: Was at office days before death_. Then he sighed. Tonight's conversation was going to be even harder than he thought.

_**A/N: Ever feel like you're part of a sorority hazing? Admittedly I've felt like that and I really don't know why I'm the one being hazed...new girl on the block I guess. Anyway, I said this a little in a review, but I'd like to address it further. Yes, it is easy for me to sit here behind my computer and say I didn't steal anything, but it is the honest truth. I don't know why that person chose to attack me (or why the other person was so hung up on the rules), but I absolutely, positively did NOT steal anyone's work, from here or anywhere else. While I'm writing this story, I haven't read much of other's work because I don't want to get involved in the worlds they have created and then get them mixed up with mine. Sounds crazy, but I want to stick to my own world while I plot the story out. Not reading most of a story makes it hard to steal. Plus, I'd like to think I'm creative enough to use my own imagination; I was a creative writing major in college after all. Anyway, I did not take anyone here's work and if we happen to have something in our stories that looks similar, I assure you it is purely coincidental. Having not heard from anyone else, I can assume most people realize I'm not stealing their work. We all have a different take on the canon of this show. Some stay with it, some stray. I think all are okay, but I do realize others might not. However, I think all should be welcome.**_

I do appreciate the support I got from here. This seems like a community of positive people who support the common interest we have. To others...if you don't like my story, I'm sorry, but you do have the choice not to read it you know. You don't have to attack me. I write stories for fun and as a way to deal with anxiety. I don't think I'm writing stuff that's so controversial it needs to be attacked. Again, thanks to all who have welcomed me, and thanks double for reading/reviewing! I was hoping someone else would enjoy my work as I have enjoyed other's. Hopefully the story will keep people's interests to the end!


	17. Chapter 17

_**Even though I was recently told that this is, and I quote, "drivel" and I "truly do not seem to have enough knowledge of the show or it's characters" and I am "SLAUGHTERING a cherished show to ribbons with this drivel that you call a story" or that "This crap you are putting out is more for some website such as soapcentral," I am going to finish it, because I promised myself I would. I've had to do a lot of soul searching to even want to continue, but if for nothing else, I will post the story for my friend who enjoys reading. She was bullied over a story and still finished it, so I can do the same. Sorry I am not "doing the show some justice" but last time I checked, this was a free country and no one is forcing you to read, JoshuaSmith. Perhaps a hobby that doesn't involve attacking me is in order. You said yourself, "I admit this is just fan fiction." Then don't take it so seriously. I am not letting you bully me away. Thanks for making me feel powerful though. I somehow manage to take work by others that you consider good and turn it into something you consider toxic waste even though I don't change it at all. I didn't know I was THAT good. This will likely be my last story here though. For something I'm doing for fun, it's not fun anymore. I'll try to get it done quickly so Mr. Smith can have his board back the way he wants it. **_

_**Thank you to the readers who know that everyone has their own take on things, even though, and I quote again, "You might be getting reviewed but it is out of pity because someone dared to speak up to you." Thank you for the pity reviews just the same.**_

_**Anyway, I'm posting the next three chapters at the same time, because, well, it's mostly "drivel" and I know (boy do I know now) that that's not the favorite part of stories here, so I might as well spare everyone the annoyance of getting several updates that are all "slaughtered garbage."**_

_**All songs and poems contained within belong to their respective owners. **_

The whole way home, all Amy could think about were two things: the kiss and the fact that she hadn't driven a stick shift in years and was afraid she'd either get the Porsche stuck in the middle of the street, or she'd grind the gears so badly that she'd owe Steve a transmission. Both were making her a bundle of nerves, both good and bad. On one hand, she felt like jumping up and down and telling everyone she saw just how in love she was. All the nervous energy was making it impossible to sit still and she just wanted to tell the world how she felt. On the other hand, the negative part of her mind was trying to convince her that she couldn't do anything to screw this up. It was telling her that this new relationship was still not solid. It was merely hanging by a thread and one wrong move would cause Steve to leave. Wrecking a car would be one such move. In a trip that normally would take 15 minutes, Amy managed to double that just to get from the station to home, but she got the car there in one piece.

Gingerly, she got out of the car, still feeling it was too nice for her to be touching. She then headed out of the underground garage and up to the lobby of her apartment building. Instead of walking up the stairs, she kind of danced up them, still full of excited energy. When she got to her front door, she stood there for a bit, trying to wipe the smile off her face in case Karen was home. Deciding she would be okay, she unlocked the door and walked in. Karen was sitting at the dining room table doing homework.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"Why?" Amy asked, a tad paranoid.

"Because your car was downstairs, but you were gone."

"Oh. I was at the police station with Steve. He came by this morning, so he just took me."

"How did you get home?"

"Steve's Porsche," she said, dangling the keys in front of Karen before setting them on the table.

Karen said nothing.

"What?" Amy asked her, uncomfortable with her cousin staring at her.

"Two things. One, Steve drives a Porsche?"

"That's what I said."

"Wow. The best car any guy I've ever dated drove was a '73 Monte Carlo, and your guy drives a Porsche."

"He also has a job that requires more than skills with a fryer."

"Touchè. Second, Steve let you drive his Porsche?"

"Yes! He told me I could take his car so that I didn't have to stay around there all day. I'm a good driver, you know."

Karen looked at her like she was expecting more. "Why are you grinning like an idiot?"

Amy was startled by the question. "What? I'm not grinning like an idiot!" she said quickly.

"Speed talking. Grinning stupidly. Bad case of nerves…"

"Well you try driving a car that you can't drive on San Francisco streets and see how calm you are! I haven't driven a stick since I was 15, and it's not exactly like riding a bicycle." It wasn't a lie, but it was only a quarter of the reason she was nervous. She then yawned. "Are you going to be here the rest of the day?" she asked Karen.

"Actually, yeah. My afternoon class got cancelled, and I have the afternoon off from work. I was going to head back to Berkeley later for a party, but…"

"No, that's fine. If anyone calls for me, unless it's Steve, don't tell them I'm here. You don't know where I am, you don't know when I'll be back. Okay?"

"Uh, sure. Is everything okay?" Karen asked, worried by Amy's need to hide.

"Yeah, I think so. I don't know, just...I just don't feel like talking to anyone."

Karen nodded and watched Amy retreat into her bedroom. "By the way, congrats."

Amy turned around and looked at Karen. "For what?"

"The tale the smudged lipstick tells." Karen grinned and went on doing her homework.

Amy quickly turned around and ran her right index finger along her bottom lip. She should have checked in the rearview mirror first.

* * *

Awhile after lunch, Karen, who had been trying to catch up on reading, decided she'd bored herself enough for one afternoon, so she turned on the TV to catch All My Children. Two minutes into the show, the local news team interrupted with a breaking news bulletin.

Karen groaned. She almost changed the channel until she saw it was something involving the police. That piqued her interest, so she stuck around. She wasn't sure if she was glad if she did or not after hearing the news. It was an update on the shooting outside San Francisco General that killed accused murderer Nick Milani. Authorities were still looking for a possible sniper, but they were confident the area was safe for regular travel.

She couldn't believe what she'd heard. She sat staring at the TV with a shocked expression on her face throughout the entire bulletin. That is how Amy found her after waking up from a restless nap.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked her cousin.

Karen looked up from the TV. "That guy that shot you was shot?" she asked in astonishment.

Amy just nodded.

"Weird. I mean, it's justice and yay to whoever did it, but what the hell?"

Amy shrugged. "Steve didn't tell me much. I don't know if he's even involved in that. He just told me the guy got shot."

Karen looked over at Amy, who has taken a seat on the couch. "You should look more relieved."

"Yeah, I suppose I should. There's a lot more at stake here though."

"Like what?" Karen asked.

"I don't know, there just is." Amy didn't want to mention a thing about someone out there killing people that were connected to her, especially if Paul was somehow involved.

Karen wasn't quite sure what to say to that, but soon the news went off and All My Children came back on, so Karen chose to give that her attention instead. At a commercial, she turned around to say something to Amy but found her asleep on the couch.

Late in the afternoon, Karen came out of her bedroom dressed to go to her party. The phone rang and Amy barely stirred, so Karen grabbed it in her room. "Hello?" she answered.

"Oh, hi," a voice said. "Can I talk to Amy?"

"_Oh, hi_, to you too, Paul," Karen said snidely. "I don't know, are you physically able to talk?"

"Why are you such a bitch all the time?" he asked Karen.

"Because I despise you. You _may_ not talk to Amy anyway."

"Why not? You can't stop me from…"

"She's not here, dumbass. Kind of hard to talk to her if she's not here, isn't it? Sheesh! Chill out."

"Well where is she?" Paul asked with a worried tone in his voice.

"I don't know. Out? She was here when I left for school, wasn't when I got back."

Amy stirred and opened her eyes slightly at the sound of Karen talking to someone.

"Why don't you know where she is? She could have been kidnapped or be dead in an alley somewhere and you wouldn't know! Something bad is going to happen to her because of idiots like you," Paul lashed out at her.

"Maybe she took a long walk off a short pier or hopped a slow boat to China. She's a grown woman, and I am not keeping tabs on her like she's a child," Karen snapped back.

Amy got up and walked to Karen's room, where she stood at the door and listened to the conversation.

"Are you hiding something from me? You'd do that just to spite me. Is she with that jerk from Berkeley?"

Karen clenched her teeth. "Funny, but some people, like lawyers, work during the day. Plus, he went back to Sacramento. And no, Amy is not in Sacramento."

Paul didn't say anything for a bit. He then asked, "Are you telling me the truth?"

"Despite my disgust for you, yes, I am actually telling you the truth. She's not here, he's not here, I'm certain they're not together."

"Okay. Well, I'll try calling back later, but in the meantime, tell her I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"What happened this morning. I shouldn't say sorry, because I'm glad her nightmare is over, but sorry she had to live through it one more day. Tell her I'll call back, okay?"

Karen suddenly felt creeped out. She hung up the phone without saying a word.

Amy, still standing quietly at the door, said, "You lie so well it's scary."

Karen looked at her. "You know what else is scary?"

"Was that Paul?"

Karen nodded. "He wants to tell you he's sorry for what happened this morning. He's glad your nightmare is over. Oh, and that you're not with that jerk from Berkeley."

Amy shivered.

"What the hell is he talking about?"

Amy shrugged. "He probably saw the news just like you did. People probably assume that because the guy who shot me is dead, I'll be...whatever I haven't been lately. Honestly, it didn't bother me that much," she lied.

"Yeah, and he's sure the one to put someone at ease. Why doesn't he just move to Siberia?" Karen walked out of her bedroom and on her way to retrieve her purse from the living room, the doorbell rang. "Are you expecting someone?" she turned and asked Amy.

Amy shook her head no, but made no move to get the door.

Karen looked through the peephole and then unlocked the door. She saw a delivery man standing there. He announced he had a delivery for an Amy Johnson.

Amy, dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and jeans with her hair looking like it was slept on, came to the door. "I'm Amy," she told the guy, confused. She looked around the hallway. "I don't see anything."

"There was too much to carry up, so I thought I'd come get your signature first," the guy told her.

"Too much? What did you bring?" Karen asked.

"Flowers."

Amy and Karen looked at each other. "Too many flowers to bring up?" Karen asked.

Amy perked up a little, thinking they might be from Steve. Karen wasn't so sure, so when Amy attempted to sign the delivery form, Karen stopped her.

"Can we see this delivery before we sign for it?" she asked the man,

He shrugged and told them to follow. The three went downstairs and out to the street where the man had his delivery van double parked. He opened the back where the girls saw bouquet after bouquet of flowers lining the walls and the floor.

"Which one is mine?" Amy asked.

"Which one isn't?" the guy answered back.

The girls looked quizzically at him. "You mean every flower in this van is hers? That's ridiculous!" Karen said.

"You must be mistaken," Amy said, unease in her voice. Even if Steve had sent these, she wasn't going to be happy about it.

"Nope. The whole delivery is yours," the guy said.

Karen hopped into the van and started looking at the bouquets. "Is there a card? Who the hell sent this?"

"I don't know, lady. I just bring 'em."

Amy stood and watched Karen go through every bouquet in the van. She crossed her arms over her chest as a cold shiver went through her body. Suddenly she felt as if it were winter and she was ill-dressed.

"I think I found something," Karen said after awhile. She dug through the paper wrapping and pulled out a small card. Unfolding it, she read it to herself for what seemed like ages.

"Well?" Amy asked impatiently. She was tired of standing in the street feeling like everyone was watching her. She looked around and saw no one staring, but she felt like they were when she wasn't looking.

Karen was about to say something, but then she saw another card. "There's another one in here." She promptly pulled that card out, then got to wondering if there were any more. If there were two, there may be more. It turned out she was right. Before her search was over, she'd found a total of fifteen cards in the over thirty bouquets. She got out of the truck and looked at the driver.

"Send them all back," she said sternly.

The guy looked at her like she was nuts. "You want me to take them all back? But they were already paid for."

"So? We're refusing delivery. Take them back."

"My boss ain't gonna like this," the man mumbled.

"Tell him to call me then and I'll tell him I told you to take them back. Hell, tell him I told you to throw them in the Bay for all I care. I'll tell him the same thing." Karen grabbed Amy's arm and led her back toward their apartment building. She left the delivery man standing by his van, baffled.

Once inside, Amy, who had a bad feeling about the flowers, asked Karen what was going on.

Karen started looking through the cards. "Hold on. I have to separate them by theme."

"Theme?" Amy asked, following her roommate up the stairs.

"Yeah. There seems to be a couple themes to these cards. I'll show you when we get upstairs."

Once the girls got to their apartment, Karen walked over to the dining room table and laid all fifteen cards out. She then started grouping them together into two different groups. Amy watched in bewilderment. _What could possibly be written on these cards?_ she wondered. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know.

Once Karen was done, she picked up one stack and held them up to Amy. "This group of cards, seven in all, contain the musings and thoughts of several people who are rolling in their graves at the thought of Paul Carpenter using their words to evoke a response from you. Emily Bronte, Emma Lazarus, I apologize that your great works have been used for such a sick purpose."

"Forgive me for sleeping through poetry class, but what?" Amy asked.

Karen took one card and read the poem written on it.

_There should be no despair for you_

_While nightly stars are burning,_

_While evening pours its silent dew_

_And sunshine gilds the morning._

_There should be no despair - though tears_

_May flow down like a river:_

_Are not the best beloved of years_

_Around your heart forever? _

_They weep - you weep - it must be so;_

_Winds sigh as you are sighing,_

_And Winter sheds his grief in snow_

_Where Autumn's leaves are lying:_

_Yet these revive, and from their fate_

_Your fate cannot be parted,_

_Then journey on, if not elate,_

_Still, never broken-hearted! _

"'Sympathy' by Emily Bronte. All these cards are sympathy poems. Well, except this last one, which is clearly written in his own words. Basically it's just telling you how bad he feels for you and doesn't think it's fair for such a sweet girl to be suffering through all this pain and anguish. He wants you to know that he's here for you and wants you to take advantage of that. He's sad you haven't so far. Makes me want to puke."

"That makes two of us," Amy said, shivering again. "What's the other pile, or am I going to be more frightened?"

"Oh this pile?" Karen said, pointing to the other pile still lying on the table. She picked it up. "This one is the best. Stop me if you've heard these before." She cleared her throat and started humming as if she were testing her pitch before singing. She then sang off the chorus to "Cherish" by The Association.

"All apologies to The Association of course. How about this one?" Karen said, switching cards. She then sang the chorus to "Michelle" by The Beatles, replacing the name Michelle with Amy.

_"_I should have brushed up on my French first," Karen said.

"Paul McCartney should kill him," Amy said, disgusted. "Don't tell me that pile is a bunch of love songs." She rubbed her arms, suddenly feeling even colder.

"But of course! Can't you see he feels so badly for you that he wants to whisk you away to his own little private paradise and take care of you only the way he can?"

Amy had to sit down. Her legs were starting to feel weak and it felt like she had a huge hole forming in the pit of her stomach.

"You did realize that he's in love with you, didn't you?" Karen asked.

"Of course I did!" Amy snapped. "I thought he knew I wasn't interested in him that way! I thought I'd made it very clear at one time. Damn it!"

"He's too stupid to get the message. Hey, you want to help me burn these? It might make you feel better to see his stolen words burn in effigy. Too bad it can't be him instead."

"No! No, keep them."

"Keep them? What the hell for?"

"Evidence. Evidence that he's dangerous. If Steve and Mike prove that Paul is behind Carl's murder, they might need those as evidence."

Karen looked at the cards like she had no idea how they would help prosecute anyone for anything other than bad taste. "Wait, murder?"

"Steve thinks Paul murdered Carl."

"Um...I wouldn't put something like that past him - he's always creeped me out - but why would he kill Carl?"

Amy shrugged. "I don't know, but that's what Steve thinks, and it is his business."

Karen threw the cards she still had in her hands on the table as if they were suddenly on fire. "Then you better tell Steve about this."

"I will when he comes to get his car." She stood up. "I suddenly feel very dirty. I think I'll take a shower." She walked into her bedroom without saying another word to Karen.


	18. Chapter 18

_**Any song lyrics contained within are property of their owners. I make no profit off them. :)**_

Steve knocked on Amy's apartment door and waited. No one answered, so he knocked again. Still no one answered. Cop instincts did not tell him she wasn't home - they told him she was in trouble. He knocked louder and called her name. Still nothing. He tried the door knob and found the door unlocked. Opening the door slowly, he listened to see if there was any commotion. The place was dead silent. He came in, ready to shoot if necessary. He looked into the kitchen and living room. Both were empty. He then started cautiously down the hall. First he peered into Karen's room and saw nothing, and then he checked the bathroom and saw the same thing. The only room left was Amy's bedroom.

He listened again and still heard nothing. Very slowly, he peeked in and saw Amy, dressed in a bathrobe with her hair up in a towel, asleep on the bed. He breathed a sigh of relief and walked in. Sitting on the side of the bed, he watched her, wondering if she'd wake up. She seemed completely oblivious to anyone being there, so he leaned over and whispered her name. She didn't even stir.

Steve chuckled. "No wonder she didn't hear the door." He stood up, walked to the other side of the bed, and got on, lying on his stomach next to her. She rustled a little, but did not wake up. "Amyyyyy," he said out loud. Her eyes blinked, but did not open. He took her hand and said her name again. Still nothing. He shook his head. He had never seen someone who was such a sound sleeper. His last attempt at waking her up was to tickle her nose and make her sneeze. That worked.

She sneezed twice and opened her eyes. Then she looked to her right and saw Steve lying there looking at her. She jumped at first. "God, you scared me."

He laughed. "A bulldozer could run over you and you would sleep through it."

"I fell asleep again?" She groaned. "I didn't mean to...but yeah, I'm a pretty heavy sleeper. Did you try waking me up before?"

Steve nodded. "I knocked on the door, called out your name…"

"How'd you get in? Is Karen still here?"

"The door was unlocked."

Amy groaned again. "She left the door unlocked?"

"Hey, don't be so upset. I wouldn't have gotten in otherwise. Unless that's your goal."

She put her right hand on his face. "Not on your life. Did you find something out about the shooting? I kind of figured you'd be working all night."

"No. We managed to gather a list of locals who are known snipers, but I have a feeling it will be a slow process figuring out if any of them are the shooter."

"Oh. Do you have to go back to work then?" Amy asked, disappointed.

"You are, for good or bad, stuck with me for the night. Mike insisted I go home. He said it would be better if I watched after you instead."

"Oh, he did not say that."

"He did! Of course, it could have been because I complained about missing my dinner reservations."

"Dinner reservations? With who?" Amy asked, suspicious and jealous.

Steve played it up. "This very beautiful woman I met the other day. You should see her. Long brown hair, porcelain skin, the most gorgeous blue eyes you've ever seen. Sad eyes though. They don't sparkle like they should. I have hope though; I saw them sparkle this morning."

Amy just lay there, looking up at him, though the tears welling up in her eyes made him blurry.

He leaned in and got in her face. "You do realize I'm talking about you."

She sniffed. "Of course I knew that. Why would you even ask?"

"You had an awfully worried look on your face, like I was talking about some other woman who looked exactly like you." He kissed her. "Like that would even make sense."

"Well…" She rubbed her eyes. "You're talking me out to dinner at a restaurant that requires reservations?"

"Would you rather I take you to McDonald's on a first 'official' date? I'm trying to impress you here, not run you off."

Amy smiled. "Well, when you put it that way. I could eat; I haven't eaten since this morning. I guess I should have had more than that cinnamon roll after all."

"And half my crêpe. Maybe I shouldn't take you out to eat after all. You'll eat half my food. You're not a very cheap date if I have to order two meals."

Amy just looked at him, wondering if he was teasing out not. He started laughing, so she smiled.

He then kissed her again and told her she should probably get dressed; the reservations were in an hour. Amy lept off the bed, grabbed something from the closet, and quickly ran into the bathroom. Steve flipped over and lay on his back. He closed his eyes and rubbed them. It had been a long, emotional day and he was afraid the stress of the whole thing was just beginning. Soon enough, he too was asleep.

Half an hour later, Amy came out of the bathroom dressed and made up. She was wearing a mint green mid-length cocktail dress, with chiffon sleeves, a scoop neck, and a tie belt at the waist. A string of small pearls and some white heels completed the outfit. It was nothing too fancy, but nicer than anything Steve had ever seen her in. Dressing up helped her mood slightly as well.

She looked over and saw Steve asleep. She smiled and walked over to the bed. For a minute, she just stood and looked at him, thinking about how adorable he looked. Then she did just what he did to her - she tickled his nose. He didn't sneeze, but he did wake up swatting at her hand.

He opened his eyes and saw Amy laughing. "Very funny," he muttered.

"Turnaround is fair play, right?

He sat up. "Guess I was tired too. Well, don't you look beautiful," Steve said, looking at her and smiling.

Amy giggled nervously. "I don't know about beautiful."

Steve stood up. "Well, I do; I'm an expert." He kissed her gently on this lips. "It is okay to take a complement."

She smiled shyly. "I know, I just...never mind. I'm hungry and since I don't know where we're going, we better leave so we're not late." She turned around and walked out of the bedroom.

Steve wanted to ask her what she was not saying, but he figured it was something emotionally-charged and now was not the time for her to get all weepy, so he just followed her out of the room.

Amy walked by the dining room table and saw the cards still laying there. She picked them up and contemplated looking through them, but quickly decided she just couldn't do it, so she threw them back on the table.

"What are those?" Steve asked her.

"Oh, just the cards that came with the flowers," she said quietly, hoping he would just drop it even though she knew she should tell him everything.

"Flowers? What flowers?"

She picked the cards back up and handed them to Steve. "The cards that came with the flowers Paul sent me today. It's customary for him to send me flowers after a death, only this time he went overboard."

Steve started looking through them. "That creep sent you flowers? Because Milani died?"

Amy nodded. "He sent me a van full of flowers, telling me how sorry he was but that I should be better now, especially if I lean on him for comfort. Karen made the guy take all the flowers back, but we kept the cards. Well, I made her keep the cards. They're evidence...of something, probably." Amy watched Steve read the cards, trying to tell what he was thinking.

He just shook his head. "He just better stay the hell away from you. Sick bastard." He then put the cards in his jacket.

"What are you going to do with them?" Amy asked.

"Tomorrow I will take them to work and see if Mike or I can read between the lines. If this guy's up to something, it might be in here."

"In a bad love poem?"

"It's worth a shot if it nails this guy. You ready?"

Amy nodded, grabbed her purse, and followed Steve out the door.

* * *

Steve pulled his car into a parking space behind the restaurant. As Amy got out and walked around the car to Steve's side, she kept looking around.

"What's wrong" he asked her.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just being paranoid. The whole way here, I felt like we were being followed."

Steve took her hand as they walked toward the restaurant. "I don't think so. I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary."

Amy smiled. "And women don't like dating a cop? What's not to like about having a bodyguard around all the time?"

"Maybe they just don't realize the true benefits we come with."

"Their loss, my gain." As they continued walking, Amy kept looking around, scared someone was watching and hoping it wasn't Paul. The last thing she needed was for Paul to see her with Steve.

They walked into the restaurant and after seeing just the foyer, Amy felt very guilty and uneasy about being there. The place was exquisitely decorated, the hardwood floors were shiny and clean, and the staff wore suits and ties. There were no places to sit and wait as no one came in off the street to try for a table. It was the kind of restaurant where a person could spend five dollars just for a glass of water.

Amy always hated making people spend large amounts of money on her, especially for food. She thought twenty dollars for one meal was outrageous, especially when it was often too much food or full of things she didn't like to eat, as she was a rather picky eater. This place was going to serve that kind of food, and Amy hated making Steve pay for that.

She continued to look around while Steve told the hostess, who was dressed more like she was ready for the red carpet, his name. She was glad she'd decided to wear the fanciest dress she had, though it looked far too casual compared to the hostess. She wasn't one who kept fancy dresses around for she had no place to wear them. Working in the social work field was far from glamorous and did not lend itself to elegance. She also wasn't the most social person in the world, so no going to fancy dinner parties. The fanciest dress she'd ever owned was her prom dress, and that was rotting away in her bedroom closet in LA. A feeling that this night was going to be one full of her being self-conscious came over her. She tightened her grip on Steve's hand as she tried to dispel the negative feelings.

The hostess led the two to their table, which was a small round booth. Steve slid in one side and Amy slid in the other. The hostess handed them menus and wished them a good meal. Instead of opening the menu right away, Amy just kept looking around at the other patrons. Anyone else looking at Amy wouldn't say she was out of place in comparison, but in her mind, she was. The ladies were all dressed more nicely and were overall better looking. She wanted to crawl under the table and hide, but she didn't want Steve to know how apprehensive she felt, so she took a deep breath and tried to block out everything but him.

She picked up the menu and looked around at the offerings. Besides her astonishment at the prices, she found she also didn't know what half the ingredients in the dishes were. Should she order the cheapest thing? The most normal-sounding dish?

"Have you been here before?" she suddenly asked Steve.

Steve took a drink of the water that a waiter had brought while Amy was lost in her own mind. "Yeah, a couple times."

Looking around again, she noticed most of the other patrons were couples - no families, no businessmen, just men and women on dates. "I suppose this is a good first date kind of place for you."

Steve gave her a puzzled look. "I hope so."

"You don't know?" Amy asked, confused. "I guess I figured you'd brought all your dates here. So what's good?"

Steve just looked at her. "Actually, you're the first woman I've ever brought here, in case you were implying something else."

Amy shrugged it off. "No, just a statement."

"The salmon."

"Hmm?"

"You asked what was good. If you like salmon, it's good. Steaks are good too." He said nothing for a moment while Amy looked back down at her menu, though he could tell she was only looking at it, not reading it. "Why'd you bring that up?"

"Because I need meal suggestions," Amy said without looking up from the menu.

"Not that. Fishing for how many dates I've brought here. Why would you even want to know that?"

She still didn't look up. "I was just trying to make small talk. It was just an observation."

"What is it with women, always comparing themselves to each other? Why do they do that? Why are _you_ doing that?"

Still looking down, she said, "I'm not! It was just something to say!"

Steve grabbed her face and turned it to face him. "No, 'The weather sure was nice today' is just something to say. 'How many women have you dated?' is not." He sat and looked at her, though she quickly turned her head away and started looking around the room again.

He tried to see what she was looking at in an effort to get into her mind. From his perspective, she seemed to be looking at the people, mainly the women, and then comparing herself to them. She'd look at a table, then look down at herself, either at her dress or shoes. She'd try fixing her hair or tousling it around in an attempted updo. Apparently none of that satisfied her though, because she'd pout afterwards like she was disappointed that she didn't measure up.

He noticed her staring at a blonde woman who was sitting across the room in a booth just like theirs. "What is so fascinating about her?" Steve asked her.

She jumped, as he had startled her out of a trance. "What?"

"That woman over there," he said, pointing at the blonde. "You keep looking at her. Do you know her?"

Amy shook her head. "Do you think she's pretty? Maybe I should have worn my hair up like that instead of down. I should have put more jewelry on, but I don't own anything that isn't cheap. I should…"

Steve cut her off. "You should stop looking at other women and comparing yourself to them! It's like you're purposely trying to make yourself feel bad. It's a bad habit, and I'm not exactly sure why it's coming out now. Was it because of the flowers?" Even though he hadn't read them thoroughly, he was worried they'd scared or worried her somehow.

Without looking at him, Amy simply said, "I just feel out of place. Everyone here is so much...more than me."

"Oh, they are not. You see that guy your 'friend' is with?"

Amy looked at the man eating dinner with the blonde. Amy thought he was distinguished, but average looking. To her, he exuded arrogance more than anything else. "Yeah. What about him?"

"Well, if your friend was so captivating and beautiful, he'd be looking at her instead of that woman over there," Steve said, pointing to another well-dressed blonde sitting at a table in the middle of the room. "He's spent more time drooling over her than his own date."

Amy looked at the other blonde. "Her dress is ugly and that hair is Miss Clairol."

"Yet you'd rather be her than you? I guess I could switch places with that guy and you could sit here with a guy who spends the whole date looking at someone else."

"You wouldn't rather be with someone who looked like those women? Someone who doesn't attract obsessive weirdos and feel self-conscious at fancy restaurants?"

Steve scooted a little closer to Amy. "The more I hear about this guy, the more I want to kill him. No, I'm quite thrilled with who I brought, thank you very much. Now if you'd rather be with someone else…"

"No!" Amy blurted out. "No...I just...I haven't been in a place this fancy since prom night, and that night was awful. Maybe my subconscious remembered that. Plus, I can't seem to shake that feeling that people are staring at me."

Steve put his arm around Amy's shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. Just then the waiter came over and took their orders. When he left, Amy asked Steve why he put up with her roller coaster emotions.

"Because you're cute, why else?" he said, tongue-in-cheek, then laughed at her reaction, which was befuddlement. "You do know that everyone's prom was really bad in retrospect?"

"Oh, but mine was worse than that."

The waiter brought Amy a glass of white wine while Steve pulled the flower cards out of his pocket. "You didn't go with this jerk, did you?"

Amy nearly choked on her wine. "God no. I went with the only boy…" She quickly truncated the rest of the sentence.

Steve looked at her. "The only boy what?"

She sighed. "The only boyfriend I ever had. There, now you know what kind of loser you fell for - one who has had one boyfriend in her entire life. I guess there were other interested parties, but either I wasn't interested," she said, pointing to the cards Steve was holding to indicate she was speaking mainly of Paul, "or they lost interest as quickly as they gained it. After a few times of that, you start wondering if you're a jinx or toxic or something. I never figured out what was wrong with me."

"That's hard when there isn't anything. Personally, I'm glad those other guys gave up; that way I didn't have to fight anyone."

Amy put her head on Steve's shoulder. "You think I'm worth fighting for?"

"To Hell and back, lady."

"You're weird, Steve Keller."

"I think it's all the other people in your life who are weird." He turned his head and gave her a quick kiss on the lips. "Speaking of…" he said, turning back to the cards.

"I didn't really read any of them. Karen read a couple to me. He found some sympathy poems and some song lyrics and decided they'd make me…"

"Fall in love with him as he saves you from a life of misery." Steve handed her a card that contained the lyrics to part of "It Takes Two" by Marvin Gaye and Kim Weston.

She read the card out loud. "One can have a broken heart living in misery. Two can really ease the pain like a perfect remedy. It takes two, baby. Just me and you. You know it takes two." She dropped the card. "Ewww. I used to like some of these songs, too." She looked at the cards as Steve read them but didn't read them herself. She figured they were all alike - nothing but pleas Amy was not going to answer.

After awhile, she asked Steve if he saw anything in between the lines.

"Are cards like this something he did every time?"

"No, not really. It used to just be a simple bouquet with a card that just said he was sorry. Or a phone call. I got those too. This…this is new."

"So something has made him escalate to this."

Amy wasn't sure what he was talking about. "Escalate? What do you mean?"

"It's like something has happened in his life recently that has made him suddenly feel the need to protect you from...everything? It seems like he feels he's the only one who can save you from some tragedy or danger."

"Well, I'm sure he didn't take my getting shot too well, especially since he was certain it was completely a cop error. He never really took dangers I faced very well, even if they were imagined. At times his reactions were almost scarier than the so-called danger I was in."

"Oh?" Steve asked, curious. "Any examples?"

Amy grabbed a breadstick that was in a basket on the table and chewed on it while she thought. Then her eyes got very wide. "I haven't thought about this for years, but it just came to me. When we were, I don't know, 12, maybe 13, this new couple moved in across the street. They had a dog they never put on a leash. That mutt would run all over the neighborhood. To most people, it was fine because the dog seemed to like them, but me? This dog hated me. It didn't help that I already had a huge fear of dogs. This thing would bark at me every time I'd walk to or from school. I started asking Paul to walk with me just because I thought maybe the dog would leave me alone. One day it lunged at me. I didn't get hurt, just scraped a little, but Paul was furious. I mean, homicidal furious. A couple days later, the dog was found with its throat slashed in its owner's front yard. The police never figured out who did it. I didn't say anything to the investigators because I had no proof, but I always feared Paul did it because the dog attacked me. That's the kind of thanks I got for standing up to the kids who bullied him; he became my unwanted personal bodyguard."

"So you protected him, and then he did the same for you? He seemed to take it very seriously. He also seems to have quite a temper." Steve stared off into space, thinking.

"What are you thinking?" Amy asked.

"I called your dad's secretary this afternoon."

"Mildred?" Amy smiled. "I always liked her. I'm glad she's still there. I was worried she'd quit or get kicked out once dad was gone."

"She spoke highly of you too. She also told me something interesting...and I probably shouldn't be telling you."

"I won't say anything, cross my heart. Not to Paul, or your boss, or anyone. Swear."

Steve sighed. "What day did your dad die on?"

"Sunday."

"Well, the Friday before, Paul came and saw your dad around closing time."

Amy was surprised. "What? Why? Dad hated Paul and I'm sure the feeling was mutual. Dad could never understand why I was nice to someone like Paul. Dad didn't trust him at all."

"She didn't know, but she said she thought they were arguing."

"Now that I believe."

"I asked her look for evidence of a fight, but later I remembered that it was two years ago and any evidence is likely long gone."

"Not necessarily. You just didn't realize you knew my mother when you made that request. My dad's office has been locked and untouched since he died. The house is the same way. They're both time capsules to 1971. Mom went to Dad's office, looked around, and then left, locking the door behind her and not allowing anyone to enter or exit the place ever since. If there's some kind of evidence in that office, it's probably still there."

"Wow. Maybe I'll get lucky then."

Amy suddenly got very quiet. The waiter luckily chose that opportunity to bring their dinners. Amy slowly picked up her fork and moved her rice around.

Steve snuck a carrot off her plate.

"Hey!"

"Got your attention. What's bothering you?" he asked as he ate the carrot.

"What makes you think something is bothering me?"

"I'm psychic. Out with it."

She sighed. "If my dad and Paul were arguing, it was probably about me. I'm the only reason they even talked. So if Paul did kill my father, then it's my fault, right?"

"Wrong. You know, you're cute, but you have the craziest way of thinking," Steve told her as he stole another carrot off her plate. "It's only your fault if you caused him to hit his head. You didn't cause the injury, so it's not your fault."

"My mom won't see it that way."

"We'll just have to make her change her mind then, though I doubt a mother would blame her daughter for something like this."

"Yeah, well, maybe you don't know my mother after all," she said sadly as she stole a piece of squash off Steve's plate.


	19. Chapter 19

Steve and Amy decided then that the rest of the dinner conversation was going to be about anything but the case. They'd talked enough about that. It also helped Amy stop noticing everyone around her and just enjoy being in Steve's company.

As the two walked out of the restaurant arm in arm, Amy was laughing at a dumb joke Steve had just told her.

"You must really like me if you laugh at that joke," Steve told her.

"Darn, you noticed," Amy teased. She felt truly at ease for the first time that day.

"What do you want to do now?" Steve asked.

"Can we just walk for awhile? It's a nice night, and I haven't really gotten out to just see the city."

"Your wish is my command," Steve said, and the two started strolling down the street. He noticed as they were walking that Amy wasn't turning around and looking over her shoulder anymore. "You still feel like people are watching or following you?"

She shook her head. "No. Guess I was just kind of stressed out about the events of the day, but you made me feel better."

"Good, because I don't want you threatening to run away from home again. I'm too tired to chase after you."

"Do you have to chase after people a lot with your job? I can't imagine killers just surrender every time they're caught."

"Occasionally. It's not the greatest part of the job, but it's better than the endless paperwork. That's just tedious."

Amy chuckled. "They never show that part of the job on TV. You told me you'd been shot once. That doesn't happen a lot either, does it?"

"Let me put it this way: you'll worry more about me getting a papercut or stuck in traffic than you'll have to worry about me getting shot."

She smiled. "I get to worry about you? I guess it's about time I do some worrying in this relationship."

"I hope you worry about me! And yeah, spread the wealth here a little," he teased. "Although how long you worry remains to be seen."

"What?" Amy asked. Then she realized what he was talking about. "Oh, back to the women who don't date cops thing. Well, let's look at it this way. The way the world is today, we could walk out of our houses and get run over by a drunk driver, or be shot in a bank robbery, or die from some infection that's going around. More people die from accidents than being killed by someone else. Take what you just told me about Mike for instance. I bet his wife worried about him plenty, yet who buried who? You could more likely be burying me because I got run over by some crazy driver. Seriously though, should I avoid all human contact because I'll spend my whole life worrying that my husband will die from something some day? I don't do so well being alone, so I guess I'll take my chances. Anyone who thinks differently, well, I hope they enjoy their misery."

Steve stopped walking and took Amy in his arms. "You know," he said, looking in her eyes, "I think we're going to be very good together."

Amy smiled, but then said, "I think so too, as long as I don't disappoint you."

"How could you possibly do that?" Steve asked.

"You know my penchant to say dumb things and go a little crazy."

"Never noticed," Steve said facetiously. "Seriously though, I remember something I read in one of my psychology classes. During times of high stress, the stress will manifest itself in many different ways. With you, it makes you untrusting, self-conscious, full of self-hate. The one thing I'm most looking forward to when this whole mess is over is seeing the real you - the one who smiles when she wakes up in the morning, has fun, and is just, happy. I know she's in there. Not that I don't love the Amy I'm looking at now, but I know I'll love the other one even more."

"You really believe there's a happier me in here somewhere? I don't think my mother even thinks that."

"I don't think, I know."

Amy kissed him. "You'll be surprised though when I wake up and don't smile. I am not a morning person. At all."

They started walking again. "Guess I'll have to change that then, won't I?" he said, with a certain suggestive tone in his voice.

"Oh, good luck with that!" Amy said, suggesting no one could turn her into a happy person in the morning.

"Is that a challenge? I generally win challenges."

"Uh huh, sure." Amy didn't say anything more, but she did blush a little.

The couple walked a little more until they walked in front of a cocktail lounge. Live music was sneaking out the cracks in the entrance door, and Amy cringed at what she heard. She stopped dead and stood there, listening to someone singing a Rolling Stones song off key.

"Oh, that's horrible," she said.

"What is?" Steve asked.

"That singing. I hope this bar didn't hire that person."

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. It sounds okay to me. Not professional maybe, but not as bad as you say."

"It's off key, and that song is clearly not appropriate for that man's voice."

Steve took her hand and started pulling her toward the door. "Why don't we find out what's going on then? Maybe it's bad singers night, and we can throw tomatoes at the stage."

Amy laughed but didn't follow. "I don't know. I'm not sure I want to spend my night listening to a terrible cover band."

"So, drink some cocktails and just have fun with how awful the whole thing is."

"I suppose, but…"

"Amy Johnson, you're going to have fun if it kills you."

"Killed may not be the best word to use here, Steve," Amy cautioned as she gave in and walked through the door he was holding open for her.

They walked into the establishment and were greeted by dark wood-paneled walls and similarly-colored vinyl bar chairs. The curved bar was to the left and several tables were in front of them. Against the far wall was the stage, where a man was still warbling through "Let's Spend the Night Together."

"I hope he's not using that as a suggestion to his girlfriend," Amy told Steve. "She should run if it is."

Steve laughed and motioned for her to follow him up to the stage. A crowd was standing in front on the dance floor. A few people were sitting at the bar, but most of the patrons were standing in front of the stage. Steve managed to drag Amy to the front of the crowd where they reluctantly watched a long-haired chunky guy in a western-style beige shirt and baby blue flared pants.

"His fashion sense is as good as his singing," Amy said loud enough that the red-headed girl standing next to her laughed.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one who thinks that!" she shouted back at Amy.

Amy just nodded and went back to watching the horror on the stage. The man finally ended the song and took a bow. Amy barely clapped and the girl acknowledged and shared her lack of enthusiasm.

"That was the worst one yet," the lady said.

"Oh? What is this, bad band night?" Steve asked the girl.

"Amature night. Anyone can get up and sing with the band. Happens every Monday night. We come here just to see how bad it can get," she said, pointing back to the man who had his arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah, and every Monday night she complains how terrible everyone is," her date said, taking a drink from a bottle of beer.

"That was terrible though. I don't think he could have found the key if it bit him in the ass," Amy said.

The girl laughed. "You're right!" She turned to the stage. "Oh, here comes another one!" She turned back to Amy. "I'm Cynthia and killjoy here is Roger."

"Nice to meet you," Amy said, shaking Cynthia's hand. "I'm Amy and this is Steve."

"Your first time here?" Cynthia asked her.

Amy nodded. "He dragged me in here after I commented on how bad the singing was. Said it would be fun." She rolled her eyes.

"And it will be if you stop critiquing everyone," Steve said jokingly.

"It'll never happen," Roger said. "I've told her to loosen up, but miss professional singer here has an opinion on everything."

"Are you really a professional?" Amy asked Cynthia.

"No, but compared to them, I am," she said, pointing to the stage. "I sang in school."

"So did I!" Amy said excitedly.

"You did?" Steve asked.

Amy nodded. "High school and college."

"Shhhh. Your next victim is about to perform," Roger told the girls.

Everyone turned toward the stage as a short lady with a hairstyle leftover from the 1960's took the microphone in her hands and started singing Judy Collins' folk hit "Both Sides Now." Although according to Amy and Cynthia, she screeched it more than sang it. Throughout the entire song, both women traded barbs at the expense of the lady on stage.

When she was finished, Steve looked at both girls and said, "If you ladies think you can do so much better, maybe you two should get on that stage and prove it."

Roger loved the idea. "Yeah. It's about time someone else stood out here and said how terrible you two are."

"I am NOT terrible," Cynthia said very matter-of-factly.

"Prove it, babe," Roger told her.

Cynthia turned to Amy. "What do you say? Should we show these jerks or not?"

Amy stood in stunned silence. She didn't have stage fright per-se, but she hadn't sung in front of an audience in over two years. "I don't know if…"

Steve leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Go wow them. You'll have fun."

"I'll do it if you do it," Cynthia said.

Amy still wasn't sure, but she knew she was better than the two people she'd seen so far. Plus, it was her boyfriend who'd made the suggestion and chickening out wouldn't look good. "Okay, I'll do it."

Cynthia dragged Amy up to the stage where they talked with the band about what song they'd sing.

Steve laughed and shook his head at the same time. "I really didn't think she'd do it."

"I'm glad she did so Cindy would get up there. Every time she drags me here, I tell her she should sing if she's so good. Never would. This is going to be priceless. Buy you a beer?" Roger asked Steve.

Steve agreed and the two went back to the bar. Soon they came back and saw the girls finally ready to perform. Cynthia announced that they had been dared up on stage by their boyfriends and that they were going to duet on Martha & the Vandellas' hit "Dancing in the Street."

Even though Amy had been on stage many times, she was very nervous. She was sure she knew the words as she'd sung this song once for a high school talent show, but what if she forgot in the middle? What if her voice gave out on her? She hadn't exactly used it for this purpose lately. And all these people were staring at her. Sure, they clapped for everyone regardless of talent, but with her luck, she'd be the one they booed.

The music started and almost like magic, Amy came alive. She started singing and the fun of the lyrics took over. Soon she was totally into it, holding nothing back. She and Cynthia were dancing and as she looked out at the audience, they were as well. They whole place came alive along with her.

When they were done, they were met with a loud roar of cheers. Amy suddenly felt almost embarrassed, but she bowed and hopped off the stage.

She walked over to Steve, who was clapping. "And you didn't think this would be fun! You can't tell me you didn't have fun up there."

Amy's face turned red. "Maybe a little."

"See, we are good!" Cynthia shouted. She then hit Roger in the arm. "You didn't think I could do it."

"I still don't think you can do it alone."

Someone in the audience started shouting 'encore' and got others to join in.

"Is that so?" She took off toward the stage, hopped up, and after conferring with the band, started another song, this time alone.

Steve stood behind Amy and had her wrapped up in his arms. The two of them watched as Cynthia did her best Petula Clark impression with "I Know a Place."

"You're better than her," Steve whispered in Amy's ear.

"You're just saying that."

"No, it's true. You outsang her. She's good, but you're better."

"That's coming from ten years of vocal lessons. I better be good after all the money my parents spent."

When Cynthia was done, she had to be pushed off the stage. "I think the fame has gone to her head," Amy told Steve.

Someone in the audience then suggested Amy get up there solo. Steve coaxed her into it, so she went up on stage, but she wasn't sure what to sing. Asking the crowd for suggestions, someone said "A Dusty Springfield song." Amy suddenly knew the perfect one for how she was feeling at the moment. She asked the audience to be her backup singers, then cleared her throat and started in on "I Only Want to be With You." She knew the lyrics fit her and Steve to a T, but because of that, she tried not looking at him. If he didn't feel the same way, she'd be mortified. When she was done, she smiled, having enjoyed doing a solo and happy that she wasn't nervous - about performing anyway.

After she got off the stage, someone announced that the band would be taking a break and they would be switching to prerecorded music. Cynthia came running over to Amy before Amy could get to Steve.

"I have to admit, I'm a little jealous. You're very good."

Amy shyly thanked her and complimented her right back. Cynthia and Roger then went off in another direction.

"I hope that sounded sincere," Amy told Steve.

"As long as she thought so." He then looked at her, smiled, and asked if she cared to dance. The band had started playing a slow melody and several couples were taking to the dance floor.

She laughed. "As long as I don't have to literally fall into your arms. I'd probably fall out of your arms and break something."

As they began to dance, Steve suggested that be their song. "It just fits. You _have_ had a hold on me ever since we met."

"And that's certainly crazy," Amy told him.

"Sometimes you have to be a little crazy to find happiness you didn't know existed."

Amy smiled and the two danced silently for awhile, simply enjoying the music, the calmness of the situation, and each other.

When the song ended, Amy decided she was thirsty, so the two walked over to the bar and Amy ordered a strawberry daiquiri. Then they chose a table toward the side wall away from the main crowd. Once they sat down, Steve asked her why she doesn't sing anymore.

She shrugged. "Maybe because it was always my mom's dream, not mine. She's an actress, professionally I guess. She has an agent and everything, but it's not like you can see her in the latest film coming out. What she does is mostly commercials, a couple that were even national, and local plays. One year she did land a role in a touring company production of...something. I don't remember; I tried to block it out. She left her not-old-enough-to-stay-by-herself daughter home so she could go play make believe. I guess it's made me bitter." She took a long drink of her daiquiri. "I think she wanted me to follow in her footsteps, or she wanted to live vicariously through me. I wasn't interested either way."

"Sounds like maybe your relationship with your mother isn't that strong," Steve said.

"Eh, it's okay. Well, it was okay until Dad died and I wouldn't stay in LA to take care of her. The last two years have been rocky, but I think she's coming around to accepting that I want to go into social work and stay in San Francisco."

"I hope so, for your sake," Steve told her, rubbing her back as a sign of caring.

"Thanks for pushing me up there, though. Made me get out of my shell for awhile." She took another drink and then excused herself to use the ladies' room.

"You okay?" Steve asked, thinking maybe bringing up her mother opened a wound.

"Yeah, fine, I just actually have to go, honest."

"Just don't go sneaking out the window on me."

Amy stood up. "Does that even happen? I've never even seen a window in a restroom."

Steve shrugged. "I don't spend a lot of time in the ladies' room."

Amy stuck her tongue out and walked off. She entered the ladies' room and the first thing she noticed was a window high up on the wall by the sinks.

"Well, I'll be damned," she muttered as she chose a stall. A minute later she came out and on her way to a sink, looked at the window again. She couldn't figure out how anyone could sneak out of it without being some kind of acrobat. Quickly, she washed her hands but as she shut the water off, she suddenly felt a weird sensation coming from over by the window. She turned and jumped when she saw something looking at her. Then she scolded herself when she realized it was only a bird perched on the windowsill. She was letting her imagination get the best of her again.

She quickly finished up and left the ladies' room. Deciding it was time to leave, she went back out to the lounge and asked Steve if it was okay if they just went home. He agreed and the two left. On the walk back to the car, Amy started looking around again. By this time it was dark and there seemed to be a shadow lurking around every corner.

"You're doing it again," Steve said.

"Doing what?"

"Looking around like someone is following you." He looked over his shoulder in both directions and saw nothing amiss. "No one is following us. What got you thinking this again?"

"A bird in the window of the bathroom. For a split second, I thought it was someone watching me. Now I can't shake it."

"Speaking of shaking, you are." He stopped walking and put his jacket around her shoulders.

"Thanks," she said meekly.

"Do you think Paul would actually follow you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know anything anymore. I never thought he'd kill anyone either and it sure seems like he did. If he's capable of that, he's capable of scaring the hell out of me."

"You know, I think we both need a good night's sleep," Steve suggested as he led Amy back to his car. This time as they walked, he also looked over his shoulder.


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N at the end...**_

Steve pulled his Porsche up to the sidewalk in front of Amy's building. "Are you sure you'll be okay tonight?"

Amy nodded. "If I go to bed, I won't keep thinking about Paul or being followed or whatever else my messed up mind is creating. I'll lock all my doors and windows so even I can't get out."

"Please do lock your front door this time," Steve said through a yawn.

"Looks like you should go home and go to bed too."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess I am pretty tired. But listen, I still don't care if it's three in the morning - if something happens, call me. I can be here in five minutes."

"I will. I'll sleep with the phone next to my bed. Creeps have to sleep sometime too I hope."

"I assume they are technically human, though I've always had my doubts."

"Don't worry about me, okay. It'll just keep you awake all night, and you need your sleep so you can figure out this mystery and put it behind us." Amy leaned over and hugged Steve. "Thank you for, well, a hundred things. Putting up with me, humoring me, protecting me, keeping me sane...loving me. I appreciate it more than I'll ever be able to tell you. I feel like I used to before everyone started dying on me. No, actually I feel better. And it's all your fault."

"I take full responsibility then," Steve said. They kissed each other. "I love you."

Amy smiled. "I love you too. Sleep well." She pulled on the door handle and got out of the car. "Call me tomorrow if Mildred calls you back."

"I'll call you anyway."

Amy waved goodbye and ran into her building. Steve waited until she she disappeared from his view, then drove home.

* * *

After changing into a white, sleeveless, knee-length nightgown, washing her makeup off, and brushing her teeth, Amy crawled into bed and tried to get comfortable. She figured she's drift right to sleep after the day she'd had, but she was wide awake. The three naps she took must have helped meet her sleep quota, and now she couldn't keep her eyes shut.

Finding it too frustrating to lay there and force herself to sleep, she got up, turned on the light, and decided she should read some more of Jasmine's journal. It would either help lull her to sleep, or she'd learn something. For over an hour, Amy read about everything in Jasmine's life - the friends she spied on at school, the social events she eavesdropped on, the phone calls she overheard at home. It seemed that the girl spent more time listening in on and watching other people's lives than she spent living her own.

Nothing was helpful or particularly interesting until Amy got toward the end. There, she started reading about a phone conversation Jasmine overheard. The best Amy could make of the entry was that it was between Carl and a lady and it sounded heavy. She didn't blame Carl for having something going on the side; she never understood why someone as nice as Carl was married to a person as horrible as Janice. What she disliked was the fact that some of what she was reading was said within earshot of a six year old. Amy was sure Jasmine had no idea what it meant as she had trouble deciphering the words the girl wrote anyway, but just the thought made her stomach turn with anger.

She read on, hoping that Jasmine might have heard the name of this mystery woman. If she could give this person a name, maybe Steve and Mike could look into her as a possible motive or killer. Amy really didn't really know what to make of the whole sordid affair, but she was open to any possibility at this point.

After a few more entries about the trials and tribulations of kindergarten, Jasmine listened in on another conversation between Carl and this woman. This one was more of the same phone hanky panky, but this time Jasmine got a name: Mitzi. Amy tried to think where she'd heard that name before. It wasn't the most common of names, but she swore she knew someone named Mitzi. Her brain seemed fried, so she got up and went to the kitchen for a cup of tea. After making it, she came back to her bedroom still not knowing where she'd heard the name.

Amy decided to approach this a different way than just simply hoping her brain would pull the name randomly out of her internal Rolodex. Since this was related to Carl somehow, she thought maybe it was someone from school. No one else who worked in the social work department was named Mitzi. She was pretty sure she didn't have any classes or work with a Mitzi, so maybe it was one of Carl's undergrad students. That thought didn't sit well with Amy either. She couldn't believe he'd be having an affair with any student, let alone one that was only in her early 20s at most. Despite only having a six year old child, Carl and Janice were in their mid-40s.

In the last few days, everything that Amy had known to be true, innocent, and honest was turning out to be false, corrupt, and a lie. She sat and stared at the journal, but wasn't reading the words. Instead she got lost in her own mind again, trying to make sense of knowing that perhaps Carl wasn't the great guy she thought he was. Then she told herself to stop assuming things without enough facts. After all, this new development was in the journal of a six year old, one she herself had said wasn't 100% accurate with what she heard.

She pushed on with her reading. Maybe something else Jasmine heard would spark her memory of Mitzi. She started skimming pages just to see if she saw the name Mitzi mentioned again. There was one more entry toward the end. It was dated a week before Carl died. This time, Mitzi must have been in Carl's office with him instead of on the phone. Jasmine described Mitzi as a short blonde wearing a lot of black stuff on her eyes and brown shoes that were so high she kept falling off them as she walked around the office. The description sparked something in Amy's memory, but not enough to remember exactly who this girl was.

Further reading revealed that Carl and Mitzi were talking about a job working with young single mothers and their babies at a residency center called Bright Horizons. Jasmine wrote that she recognized the name because Amy had mentioned it before. In reality, it was a job that Carl had told Amy she was perfect for and that she had really hoped to get. That discussion had started over two months ago, and despite her reminders, Carl never seemed to follow up on it as quickly as Amy would have liked. As the entry went on, she found out the cause of the delay.

Carl and Mitzi sat in his home office talking about the job. Carl told Mitzi he was able to get her an interview with the lady in charge of the center and that Mitzi shouldn't worry; with his recommendation, she'll be hired on the spot. Mitzi then asked Carl if Amy was also getting an interview. Carl laughed and told her no, especially since Carl didn't even mention Amy to the head of the center. He then went on to praise Mitzi and say that Amy, even with her better degree, was never good at the job.

Amy couldn't read any more. She felt like someone just stabbed her repeatedly. This man, who she honestly believed was her mentor and cheerleader, was doing nothing but sabotaging her efforts to make a career for herself. He lied to her face for months and kept her in a job that was a thankless joke, all the while giving his help and advice to someone who was apparently willing to put out for it. She slammed the journal on the bed in anger. Of all the horrible things she'd endured in the past twenty-four hours, this was easily the worst. For a second, she wished she could resurrect Carl just so she could tell him what a piece of trash he really was. She was angry he was dead, that she was betrayed, and that she'd wasted so much time on what she thought was a good start. Not even trying to fight the tears she knew were coming, she lay on her bed and cried until she was too tired to keep going.

A thought came across to her. _Things happen for a reason_. Any time something bad happened and she couldn't understand why she'd be subjected to it, someone seemed to tell her this. She'd always found it to be worthless advice; she wanted sympathy, not a lesson in philosophy. Now though, it actually seemed to make sense. Whatever the reasons were, and no one seemed to know at that moment, all the hell she'd been through led her to meeting Steve, the one bright spot in her otherwise miserable existence. If Carl hadn't done what he did, maybe he wouldn't be dead. With him alive, Amy never would have been in that cemetery when Steve was. Their paths would have never crossed. She would have missed out on the best thing to happen to her, but she still would have been living in the miserable dark about everything. She scolded herself for almost being glad the man was dead, but she had no other way to think of it. If Steve was the consolation prize for her suffering, Amy was glad Carl was dead.

Still, she knew that the way he died must have been terrible and someone needed to pay for it. She had to stop being selfish and get back to finding the culprit. She sat back up in bed and grabbed the journal. She flipped to the back where the most recent entries were. There had to be something in here that implicated someone. This little girl seemed to know way too many things she shouldn't have known - a killer's identity could have easily been one of those things.

Wading through more cocktail parties and pointless phone conversations, Amy suddenly found something on the last few pages. The entry was from the day Carl died. Jasmine started off complaining that Janice wouldn't let her have something or go to someone's birthday party. Then she complained about her dad never being home. Amy understood now why the girl had been in such a foul mood that day. After the rant, the entry skipped ahead to something Amy hoped was useful - the trip to the grocery store.

Jasmine, again complaining, mentioned that Amy wouldn't let her buy candy bars, so once they'd gotten to where the tea was, she snuck behind her nanny's back and grabbed some cookies. Then she mentioned that Amy caught her and gave her a talking to about grabbing things off the shelves without asking and how she needed to act more like a proper young lady in public. What came next caused Amy to almost drop the journal. Jasmine wrote that while Amy was "yelling" at her, a man snuck up behind Amy and put something in her basket before running off.

Her heart started beating rapidly, and she felt sick to her stomach. There it was - the evidence Amy had been looking for. This mystery man must have exchanged the tea Amy originally thought she pulled off the shelf with the tainted stuff. She had no idea how she could have missed not only someone close enough to her to get into her shopping basket, which she remembered setting on the floor next to her, but that same someone exchanging the tea. Half the night she felt like someone was following her, yet when someone was actually behind her, she didn't even notice. Had she been that focused on Jasmine? She wished Jasmine had described the man more, but there was nothing. Still, this was a big piece of the puzzle and Amy knew she'd have to call Steve first thing in the morning and tell him.

She was now a huge bundle of nerves, but knew she needed to try to sleep again if she was going to get up early. Turning off the lamp next to her bed, she snuggled back under the covers and tried to calm down. Her mind was racing, trying desperately to make sense of what it had just learned. She started breathing exercises, hoping it would at least distract her brain momentarily. She had just about calmed enough when the phone next to her bed rang and scared her. This caused her heart to pick up speed once again. She reached over, turned the lamp back on, and picked up the phone.

"Hello?" she answered. For the first few seconds, all she heard was laughing and screaming in the background.

"Hello!" she said again.

"Amyyyy! You still awake? Isn't it past your bedtime, old lady?"

Amy shook her head. It was Karen, and she was clearly drunk. "What do you need?"

"Well, see, there's the thing. I think I need to get home? Maybe. But I don't exactly know where that is."

"Where what is? Your home?" Amy sighed. She hated dealing with drunks. "Where are you now, Karen?"

"Um...California?"

"I figured that. I mean are you in Berkeley or some other town?"

"Well….I don't…" The line went dead.

Amy tried saying hello a few more times, thinking maybe Karen just dropped the phone, but then she heard a dial tone. _Guess she'll have to get herself out of this one_, Amy thought.

She turned the lamp off, lay back down, and tried to close her eyes, but then the phone rang again. Sitting back up, she grabbed the phone without turning the light on again.

"Karen, try to hold on to the phone long enough to tell me where you are," she answered.

"Sorry, wrong number, sweetheart," the new voice on the other end said.

Amy froze. "Paul. I thought you were Karen," she said quietly, as if her voice froze with the rest of her body.

"Has she gotten herself into trouble again? She's such an irresponsible little brat. I never understood why the two of you even got along. Good thing for her sake that she's not home tonight. I'd like to give her a piece of my mind."

"What for?" Amy asked, her voice shaking.

"For lying to me. She told me lover boy was in Sacramento." He laughed. "Sacramento looks an awful lot like San Francisco."

Amy knew he was referring to Steve after overhearing Karen tell Paul that he was back in Sacramento. "What do you want, Paul?"

"Did you have fun on your date? I was glad to see you singing again; you really should do that more often. I can't imagine how he felt, though, watching his date stand up there and sing a love song to another man."

Amy's stomach was now in knots, and she started to cry from fear. "You followed me on my date?!" she yelled into the phone.

"I had to. See, I need to get into your mind. I need to figure out what it is you see in this guy so that I can destroy it...or emulate it. I guess that depends on you. You like that fancy car he drives? I can get one, although I don't really see the need. I'm confident enough in my masculinity that I don't have to parade it around."

"Shut up!"

"What was that, darling?"

"SHUT UP!" Amy screamed into the phone. "You have no right following me around! I can go out with anyone I want, and you have no say!"

"Yeah, but do you think it's fair to the guy to lead him on like this? Sure, you go out with him physically, but mentally you're with me. 'I Only Want to be With You' is about me, not him. He should know that before this goes too far. Amy, you do this with every guy you date; you lead him on to heartbreak because you just won't admit you really love me."

"I don't love you," she growled.

"But you do love guys who try to brainwash you and get into your pants? Honey, why do you do this to yourself? It's like you're purposely trying to ruin your own life by falling for guys who use you. Can't you see that I have never used you? I have done nothing but love you for who you are. Stop turning your back on me! Let me take you away from all this heartache. We'll both be much happier."

"I'm happy enough," was all Amy could get out.

"With that Steve guy? Oh please! Has he ever sent you flowers? I send you a whole store full and you go have dinner with him! Can't you see what's wrong with that?" Paul paused. "You know who he reminds me of?"

Amy was trying not to cry hard enough that Paul could hear.

"Oh, come on, guess. I'll give you a hint. Prom date."

"Craig?" Amy asked.

"Ding ding! You remembered. Yeah, this Steve guy is just Craig in a different zip code. He's got everyone fooled into thinking he's this great guy, just because he's handsome, dresses well, and drives a fancy car. But then he gets you alone. You've been put fully under his spell, so he hopes that when he tries to have his way with you, you won't fight back even though you want to. Is prom night coming back to you?"

It was. Paul's narration was following the story just as it had actually gone. Amy started shaking at the memory of the night.

"You think he's the one...until it starts getting a little rough and your pleas for him to stop fall on deaf ears. Ask yourself though, will Paul be around this time when the Bay Area Craig goes to work? You'll be saying, 'I should have just been with Paul all along.'"

Amy felt like throwing up. "You did the same thing to me that Craig did."

"Uh uh. That's where you're confused. What he did was try to rape you. What we did was attempt to make love. There's a big difference there. If Craig's actions hadn't ruined your mindset, it would have happened, too."

Amy tried to gain what little composure she had left. She's tried ever since that night to bury these memories deep in her subconscious, and now that they were coming out when she was already vulnerable, she was on the edge of collapse. "You...raped me."

"Then why didn't you tell anyone? Obviously you didn't tell your mom, because she loves me. What kind of mother would love the man who raped her daughter? And you didn't tell your dad or I'd be the one who was dead instead of him, God rest his weary soul. Do you know why you didn't tell anyone, Amy? Because you don't cry rape when it's with someone you love! Wives don't cry rape with their husbands, girlfriends don't cry rape with their boyfriends...when it's love, it's never rape. That's what told me you loved me, Amy Johnson! So why are you suddenly so reluctant to admit it?"

Amy was so scared that she couldn't answer him.

"All these people in your life...they've ruined you. No matter though; all you need is a reminder, right? Sounds like you could use a little cheering up right now, actually. What do you say I bring over a bottle of wine and we can talk?"

Amy calmed down enough to start thinking more clearly. While still on the phone, she hopped out of her bed. "Uh, maybe that would be a good idea. Just give me time to get dressed and stuff."

"Why bother? Not like you'll be in anything long enough. Dry or sweet? Red or white?"

"Sweet white."

"What the lady wants, the lady gets. See you in a few." Paul hung up.

Amy, shaking, put the receiver back on the base, then quickly and angrily pulled the whole phone out of the wall and threw it on the floor. She then told herself she had to get out of the apartment as quickly as possible. Having no idea where Paul actually was, she couldn't afford to waste a second. She grabbed the journal off the bed, ran out of the bedroom, grabbed a coat from the front closet, and quickly threw it on, putting the journal in an inside pocket. She then frantically hunted for her purse, which she found sitting in the open on the dining room table. Grabbing it, she ran to the door and opened it, but only a crack. She glanced down the hallway in one direction through the small opening. Seeing nothing, she opened the door a little further and stuck her head out just enough to see that the whole corridor was empty. She then stepped out of the door and locked it behind her. Figuring that Paul would come up through the lobby, Amy took off the other way and went down the other set of stairs that led straight to the garage.

Once downstairs, she ran to her car but stopped short of unlocking it. _What if Paul was watching her apartment? What if he were parked out front?_ The only way out of the garage was through the door at the front of the building. She couldn't take the risk of him seeing her leave, so she couldn't drive anywhere. The only other way out of the garage was a door that led to the back of the building. Amy had only seen one person use it in the time she'd lived there. It led to the so-called backyard - a patch of grass that was overgrown with trees and too small to utilize for anything. However, it was her only escape, so off she ran to the back door and outside into the darkness.

_**A/N: To be quite honest, I should never say never because as long as it will take for me to tell this story, 100 things could happen and I could change my mind that many times as well. So maybe you haven't seen the last of me. I have a tendency to think too far into the future with stories when I should just write one at a time. Plus, after getting that message, my mind was just, I don't know. Like someone said, I have feelings and mine were attacked. Have to persevere on though or we'll never get anywhere in life. One of my reservations before I even posted this was that it wouldn't really fit in with the other stories, but I got a good initial response, so I just ran with it. For good or bad, there's no running back. A billion thanks to those who are taking the journey with me.**_

_**As to the question about crossovers: I haven't actually thought of writing a crossover, but I wouldn't be opposed to it if I could create a good plot. However, I have never seen BJ and the Bear though I have heard of it. Now there is a story I wouldn't do justice. :p I'd probably be more likely write a crossover with SOSF and Adam-12, since both were set in California and at the same time, plus both are favs (and yes, I have seen more than one episode of SOSF). :p again. :) I do like the suggested premise though!**_


	21. Chapter 21

After getting out of the building, Amy tried to figure out where to go from there. It was dark and she'd never been in the backyard, but she decided to take her chances and run into the trees. She kept running through other backyards and in between buildings until she made it to a street. She recognized it as Filbert Street, the last cross street to the south of her apartment, so she took off down the extremely steep hill until she got to Leavenworth and flatter land. Once at the corner of Filbert and Leavenworth, she took off running up another steep hill until she reached where she was aiming for - Union Street. At the corner of Leavenworth and Union, Amy stopped and took a breath. She had run nearly the entire way, both up and down steep hills, and she was exhausted.

The street was close to deserted, with only a handful of cars driving by at largely-spaced intervals. The apartment buildings were almost completely dark, save for a lit window here and there. There was no one else walking along the sidewalk, so Amy took a good five minutes to regain enough energy to keep going. It was just a little after eleven, so the café on the northeast corner of the intersection was dark. Amy had briefly thought about stopping in there and using a phone, but then realized she couldn't remember Steve's number. She remembered a few of the numbers, but not their correct order. Having it written down at home didn't prompt her to try and commit it to memory, a decision she now regretted. She didn't suppose a call to the operator would work because she figured being a cop, he probably had an unlisted number anyway.

Standing on the corner, she also realized she didn't actually know where he lived either. All she knew was Union Street. Unfortunately, it was a long street that stretched from Golden Gate Park to just west of The Embarcadero, which Amy guessed to be at least a couple miles, and without an address, she could be walking half the night. She hung her head in defeat. It was then that she noticed her feet were bare. She had been in such a panic to get away from her apartment that she didn't even notice she forgot to put on shoes. So not only was she wandering around the streets of San Francisco in a nightgown, but she was also barefoot. She figured she better stay as normal looking and out of lights as possible or the police would be hauling her to jail for vagrancy.

Along with the realization that she was barefoot came the pain her feet were in. All the adrenaline that had helped her flee had masked the fact that she had clearly stepped on something that scraped up her feet. The light wasn't great, but she lifted up her feet to look at the soles. There were cuts and scrapes everywhere. The dark yards she ran through must have been full of sharp sticks and other objects, plus the pavement itself was not exactly smooth. Despite the pain, she had no choice but to keep going. If she went back home, Paul might already be there. Once he did arrive and find her not there, he'd probably head out looking for her, so she had to keep moving.

Then came the decision. Not knowing which direction from Leavenworth Steve lived, she had to either start walking east or west. She tried in vain to remember if Steve had mentioned anything that would help her determine where he lived, but if he had, she couldn't recall it. She looked to her right, which was west toward the park. Then she looked left, east, which was toward the bay. She figured the walk east was shorter, so hoping she wouldn't have too far to go, she tucked her purse under her coat, turned to her left, and started walking east.

As she walked, she looked at every car parked on the street. One of them had to be Steve's Porsche. She did not want to think about the fact that he might have the car parked in a garage; if she thought about that, she would have given up right where she stood and some poor person would have had to come along and scrape her off the sidewalk.

Though it was easier on her legs, the downhill stretch between Leavenworth and Powell was tough on her feet. She kept scrapping the bottoms and stubbing her toes in the dark. By the time she made it to the bottom, her feet hurt so badly she felt like cutting them off would hurt less. She was also adding the frustration of not having yet seen Steve's car to the pain. She'd only walked half a mile, but it felt more like a hundred. Then she remembered that Washington Square Park was at that corner, so she headed that way for a chance to sit down. She could also survey her situation a little more.

Picking a bench underneath a lamp, Amy sat and winced. She raised her feet up and looked at them again. The cuts had pebbles and dirt in them. In her state of mind, she was certain that her feet would have to be amputated. She tried to carefully get rid of some of the gunk, but that hurt too much, so she gave up and looked around. The park wasn't empty, but it wasn't exactly bustling either. There was a man walking a large dog, a couple a little too heavy into each other, some teenagers who must have snuck out of the house to smoke, and some unsavory types hanging around a bench a ways from Amy's.

She wasn't the least bit comfortable. Even though she'd grown up in a suburb of Los Angeles, which had its share of crime and criminals who chose to conduct their business under the cover of darkness, it was a wealthy suburb and there were many parts to be in that weren't at all frightening. She didn't grow up worrying about people hanging around outside in the dark, or burglars trying to break into her house. She went to bed at night feeling secure. Out in the open, she didn't feel secure at all. She felt very much like the sheltered, scared little girl she was.

Looking around, she set eyes on the café Steve and she ate at just that morning. It seemed like days ago to her, not less than twenty-four hours. So much had happened in that time. Just twelve hours ago, she didn't know Paul was a stalker; she thought he was just an annoyance. She also thought Carl was a good man who was trying to help her get started in life. That turned out to also be a smokescreen. Staring at the café, she tried to make sense of why Paul had changed so drastically and why Carl treated her badly, but there were no answers. Looking into the dark windows of the café, Amy longed to be back there, talking with Steve and being completely oblivious to reality.

Then she started wondering what else in her life might be a lie. Had her mother told her lies? Karen? Steve? She tried shaking those ideas off as ridiculous, but then if she'd been told just two hours before that Carl was a two-faced snake, she wouldn't have believed that either. There didn't seem to be a reason any of them would lie to her, but now she was no longer sure of anything. Suddenly, she felt the need to be reassured that at least one thing in her life wasn't a delusion, so despite her feet still hurting, she stood up, pulled her coat around her tightly, and kept walking toward the reassurance she hoped for.

At the edge of the park, Amy looked at the journey ahead of her. The last seven blocks had been all downhill, but the next few blocks were a steep journey up. She was already tired from the adrenaline drop and her legs were starting to ache, but she was feeling too uneasy to keep standing in one place, so she started walking again, albeit slowly.

Her journey took her past a few little cafés and shops, none of which were still open. Amy would have loved for even one of them to be open so she could go in and hide for awhile. She felt so exposed and vulnerable out on the open street. She wasn't sure how Paul could have found her, but she was still looking around to make sure no one was following.

A couple out for a walk and another man walking a dog passed her and politely greeted her as if everyone were out for a midnight stroll. Seeing others out helped Amy feel a little calmer. If something did happen, there would more likely be witnesses. She kept looking at the cars in the street or in open garage doors, but saw no Porsche.

Passing Grant Street into the 400 block of Union, the hill got significantly steeper. Amy didn't think she was so out of shape, but she whined to herself all the way up the hill. Her feet and legs were starting to burn from exhaustion and her breathing was becoming heavy and labored. She wondered if stress was causing her physical pain. She had to start thinking positively. As she walked up the hill like it were a mountain, she kept reminding herself of good things that were happening, such as the fact that she did get out of her apartment before Paul came. She also felt that once she got to Steve's, everything would be fine. Other than her feet and physical exhaustion, she was still alive and her journey had so far been uneventful.

Hill after hill, house after house, car after car - no sign of the Porsche. She'd made it to the end of the 300 block of Union and still nothing. She was now regretting picking east over west. While standing at the corner of Montgomery and Union, she saw a street sign that said _No Outlet_. She'd reached the end of the street with no luck. She wasn't sure whether to get mad or start crying. This whole thing had become almost too much for her to handle. She turned around and looked back at where she'd just come from. If she walked all the way back to Leavenworth and then west from there, it would likely take another hour and her feet were too sore to want to walk that far. She felt stuck and cold. The temperature felt like it had gone down ten degrees since had Amy left her place. Her coat was too thin to cover up the fact that she was only dressed in a nightgown.

Reminding herself to stay positive, she noted that she at least remembered a coat, even if she did forget shoes. She also noticed that there was still a little piece of the street left, a piece that had buildings with people living in them. It was unlikely, but one of those buildings could be Steve's. She looked up at the clear, starry sky.

"If you have even the slightest bit of sympathy for me...Steve's place will be down there," she said to God or whomever was listing at the moment. She looked up at the street sign. _Montgomery_ it said. Then, as if God had heard her, she remembered something. The day Steve took her home from the hospital, he told her he lived on Union...just past Montgomery. She had completely forgotten that last part until now. Not having seen his car behind her, "past Montgomery" must have meant east of it. Her spirits rose, and she actually got a little excited.

She walked across Montgomery and then stood on the northeast corner, trying to look down the street for the Porsche. There were only a few cars on the north side of the street, so Amy concentrated on the south side. Her eyes were tired and the light from the one streetlamp was not the greatest, but she thought she saw what looked like a Porsche.

"Please don't be teasing me," she said out loud, then ran across and down the street until she got to the car in question. It looked just like Steve's, but Amy looked at the license plate just to be sure. She had this knack for recognizing license plates she'd seen. She couldn't have recited it back to anyone, but if she saw it again, it would be familiar. This one, WSD 867, was.

Amy was so excited that she jumped up and down. Her excitement quickly turned sour once she looked up at the building the car was sitting in front of. It was a multi-unit building, and Amy had no idea which one was Steve's. It was close to midnight she assumed, so she couldn't just start knocking on doors. Either no one would answer, or they'd call the police. Although, if they knew a police officer lived in their building, they might just take her to him. She was too scared to try though.

Standing by the car, she tried looking into the apartment windows. Maybe she'd see something that struck her, but they were dark and all she saw was glass. Then she thought about the car itself. Perhaps Steve's registration papers were in his glovebox. Those would have his exact address on them, so she tried the driver's door. It was locked. She ran around to the other door and tried it - also locked.

"Dammit!" she shouted. There had to be another way to get into this car. Maybe she could get into the trunk. She ran to the back of the car and looked around for the trunk handle. She thought maybe she was going blind because there was not one to be found.

"What kind of car is this? Damn foreign garbage," she said in frustration. Then she looked at the grill on the trunk lid. She couldn't figure out why there was an opening in a trunk. Walking around to the front of the car, she saw there was no grill up there.

"What is this, a backwards car?" The little knowledge she had about cars was limited to her 1970 AMC Hornet, and she couldn't seem to figure out that the engine in the Porsche was in the back and the trunk was in the front. It was making her extremely angry. She screamed at the car as if this were its fault.

Steve's eyes popped open. He hadn't been sleeping well and the sound of something outside stirred him from sleep. He also felt a headache coming on, and not wanting to lay around all night letting it keep him awake, he got up and headed into the bathroom for some aspirin. After taking two, he headed back to bed, but not before deciding to take a look out the window to see if there really was something out there. He looked around and, even in the darkness, he could see a person standing around his car. Looking closer, he could see the person looked like a woman. The thought that it could be Amy crossed his mind, though he had no idea why she'd be hanging around his car at midnight.

He went back to his room, threw on a robe and some shoes, and then walked out his front door and down the first set of stairs. The closer he got, the more he realized he was right. As he got to the bottom of the stairs, he saw her hitting his car with her purse.

"Amy, what the hell are you doing?!" He ran down the second set of stairs and to the car.

Not seeing him come out of his apartment, Amy jumped and gasped in fear at his presence. Once she saw who it was, she started explaining her odd behavior. "It...it wouldn't let me in! And then it seemed to misplace its trunk handle," she babbled, pointing to the back of the car.

He had no idea what she was talking about and wondered if she was drunk, "That's the engine," he told her, walking to the street-side of the car where she was standing.

Amy stood, befuddled. "The engine is supposed to be up there," she said sadly, pointing to the front of the car.

"Honey, please don't tell me you're standing out here at midnight to debate where Porsche chose to put their engines." He looked around for her car, but all he saw were cars he knew belonged to neighbors. "How did you get here anyway?"

"I walked."

"You walked? You do own a car, don't you?"

"Yeah, one with the engine in the right place...but I couldn't use it. I keep my registration in my glovebox, so I was trying to get into your car and see yours, because I didn't know…" She started crying. "...where you lived."

Steve was completely confused and had no idea where her incoherent rambling was going, so he led her toward his apartment. After they got to the stairs, Steve, who was walking behind Amy, saw she had no shoes.

"You walked all the way here without shoes on?!"

"My feet really hurt," was all she said.

"I can't imagine," he said, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her up the stairs and into his apartment. Once inside, he set her down on the sofa and turned on a light.

"Did you lock that door?" Amy asked, panicking. "You can't leave that door unlocked!" She fell off the couch onto the floor. She crawled furiously over to the door, got up on her knees, and locked it. Then she turned around, looked at Steve, and asked if his windows were locked.

Steve walked over to the front door, which she was now sitting against with a terrified look on her face. He sat down on the floor in front of her. "Amy, what is going on?" he said as calmly as he could. He was getting perturbed by this vague moment of craziness. "Did something happen after I left? Why couldn't you just call me or drive over here?"

"He...he...he was…" Amy was suddenly too frightened to say what had happened.

"He...he who? Paul?"

Amy nodded.

"What did Paul do? Take a deep breath."

Amy did as she was told several times before she felt like she could actually spit out words. "Paul called me."

"He called you? What did he say?" Steve's annoyance turned to concern.

Amy took another deep breath. "The phone rang and it was Karen. As I was talking to her, the line went dead, so when it rang again a minute later, I figured it was her. I answer it and it's him." She paused, trying to keep her composure. "He asks me if I had fun on my date and that he followed us so that he could get into my mind. He wants to know what I see in you so that he can become you," she said quietly, tears running down her cheeks. She then suddenly tried to stand up. "He knows what your car looks like! You have to hide it or he'll see it and find us!" She ended up sliding back down the door when she stepped on her foot wrong. "Owwww," she moaned.

Steve looked at the bottom of her feet and saw how they were scraped up and bleeding. Amy started talking again before he could say anything.

"At the end of the call, he said he was going to come over so we could 'talk'. I ran out the door without realizing I didn't have shoes on. I ran out the back of the building in case he was sitting out front. I don't even know what I ran through."

"Which is why you didn't drive," Steve said.

"I just...ran. I ran until I got to Union and there I realized I didn't know your address and I couldn't remember your phone number, so I just...walked until I saw your car. I had to get away from there, Steve. I couldn't stay and let him...I couldn't stay."

The pause in Amy's sentence worried Steve. _Let him what?_ he wondered.

"I'm sure he got to my apartment with that stupid bottle of wine and when I didn't answer, he got mad and left. He's probably driving around looking for me right now. He probably figured I'd run to you, so he's driving around looking for your car." She paused before adding, "You really should hide the car. I don't want to think about what he'll do to you if he finds you." She closed her eyes. "The things he said about you...about me and you…" She swallowed hard, like she was trying to wash the bad memory down her throat.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Steve asked calmly, expecting her to say no. He could tell whatever it was that was said during this phone call, it ripped a large hole in Amy's heart and stunted her ability to function.

She sat there with her eyes closed. "I can't," she whispered.

Steve decided he'd drop the subject for now, hoping that she'd tell him on her own time. Whatever she was holding back, he decided that it was scaring her half to death.

"Well, how about this...we get you cleaned up and mended, then we can deal with this better. Can you do that for me?"

Amy nodded, so Steve stood up, picked her up, and took her into the bathroom. Setting her down on the toilet, he went on a search for Bactine and bandages. In the back of a closet he used for everything from towels to stuff that really had no place, he found a half-empty bottle of Bactine and a roll of gauze. Back in the bathroom, he started running water in the tub and began playing nurse to his patient. He soon realized why he went into police work instead of the medical profession as his patient cursed him and screamed at the pain. After making her cry from the sting of the Bactine, Steve decided to temporarily retire from the medical practice and let his patient dress the wounds herself.

Leaving the bathroom, he rubbed his face with his hands. Originally he just thought Paul was an annoying little gnat - no matter how often Amy shooed him away, he just kept coming back. Then he became a potential murderer with untold motives. Now, he was a stalker, fixated on making Amy his queen. Steve decided that if he and Mike didn't figure something out fast, someone else was going to pay with their life. He started walking to the phone in the living room when there was a knock at his front door.

A bit apprehensive after what he'd just learned, he looked through the peephole, then laughed at his being worried. He unlocked and opened the door. "Do you ever sleep?" he asked his visitor.

"I could ask you the same thing," Mike chuckled and walked in. "I drove by just to see if you were still awake."

"Steve, who's at the door?" Amy called out, worry in her voice.

"Don't worry, Honey, it's just Mike," Steve shouted back, closing the door.

Mike gave him a look of curiosity.

"It's a long story. I'll explain it in a minute. Any news? I assume that's why you're still out," Steve asked.

"Well," Mike started, taking a seat on the couch. "Of the five guys on that list, one is in Europe, one has an alibi - he's in jail in Oklahoma - and one is dead."

"Dead? And we didn't know this already?"

"No, and believe you me, someone will hear about that tomorrow! The other two are currently being sought after. My money is on Curtis Howard. Lessing found some casings on the roof of one of the buildings facing the emergency department entrance. Johnson determined the casings are from an M40 sniper rifle. The only one of the guys on that list who was a Marine and has used that particular rifle is Howard. The other three who are still alive weren't military."

"How come you're not still out there rousting the troops?"

"I got sent home," Mike said, annoyance in his voice. "Since it's not technically my case, Rudy thinks he can just send me home."

"Well even Superman had to sleep once in awhile." Steve smiled jovially at his partner.

Suddenly, both men heard an "Owww!" coming from the bathroom. Steve got up and went in there, soon coming out with Amy in his arms. He set her down on the couch between himself and Mike.

Amy, still wearing her coat, smiled shyly at Mike. "Hi, Lieutenant. I tried walking out here, but it hurt. It's a long, terrible story."

Mike looked at her feet, which were now both wrapped in gauze.

"She walked here from her apartment, which is only a mile away, but she chose to make the journey without shoes and in the dark," Steve informed Mike.

"And through questionable backyards," Amy added.

"I'm going to guess it wasn't just because you couldn't sleep," Mike said. "And please, call me Mike."

Amy smiled shyly at him again, but didn't say anything. She simply wrapped her coat around her tighter as if she were freezing.

"Honey, take your coat off, stay awhile. You're not going back home any time soon," Steve told her.

She kept the coat on, using it as a security blanket.

"What's going on?" Mike asked, looking at Steve and then at Amy. She looked like she was going to cry just at the mention of it, so he looked back at Steve.

"My prime suspect is now stalking and making threatening phone calls. He followed her around town tonight, then called her about an hour ago telling her that he followed her and made some other threats." Steve shrugged as a way of telling Mike he didn't know what those threats were.

"Us," Amy piped up. "He followed _us_ around town." She turned to Mike. "He's upset that I'm seeing Steve and not him. He doesn't seem to understand why I won't just admit I love him since he's been there for me for so many things and he's never used me in any way like everyone else. He just wants to take me away from all this heartache." She shivered in fear just thinking about it.

Mike looked at Steve, who had a look that told Mike he had not heard this part before.

"Take you away from the heartache? The heartache he caused. Huh. So his motive in killing all these people was just so that you'd be miserable and he could show you what a great, caring guy he is?" Steve scoffed.

"Mike, he's coming after Steve, I just know it. You have to hide him or something," Amy said with desperation in her voice.

"Why do you think that?" Mike asked her.

She turned and looked at Steve. "You want to talk motive? Victim number two, Darren. I always got this feeling that Paul was jealous of him and thought we were dating. One time he asked me what I saw in Darren. The _way_ he asked me - it was the same way he asked me tonight what I see in you. Condescendingly, jealously...angrily. I laughed at him at the time because the whole idea of him being jealous of Darren was ridiculous. Anyone with half a brain could have told you Darren was gay and that we were just friends, but Paul...I don't know. He just didn't believe it. Paul started trying to hang around me more. He called me a lot asking if we could do lunch or dinner. Heaven forbid I ever tell him that I was doing anything with Darren. He'd actually try and guilt me into dropping my plans and doing something with him instead. And what happened to Darren?"

Steve just looked at her. "You think that's going to happen to me?"

Amy looked at Mike. "Do you see the connection?"

Mike made a face like he was thinking it over. "Well, it was just the one time, but…"

"But what?" Steve asked, disbelieving that Mike was buying Amy's plea.

"But, she does have a point, Buddy Boy. If what she says is true, then this guy could be harboring a lot of resentment toward anyone he sees as a rival. What exactly did he say on the phone?"

Amy closed her eyes, took a breath, then said, "He said, 'I need to figure out what it is you see in this guy so that I can destroy it.' Destroy it sounds like a threat on someone's life to me. Then he said all Steve was out to do was brainwash me and get into my pants. He's just using me."

Mike noticed Amy was clenching her fists so tight that her knuckles were white.

Steve got up off the couch and started pacing around the room. "Mike, can I just find this guy and shoot him right now?" he asked, animosity in his voice.

Mike got up and walked over to Steve. "Now just calm down a little. No use in getting all bent out of shape and doing something you'll regret. I'm starting to think I should take you off this case."

Steve gave him a desperate look. "Don't do that. I promise, I'll keep my cool." He put his hands up in the air as if he were surrendering. "Promise."

"This guy is just trying to get at both of you, and you're letting him. The more he gets to you, the more he wins in his game of destruction." He looked right at Steve. "Don't let him win. Stay one step ahead of him and keep him out of your head." He turned to Amy. "You too. Don't let him bully you either. Now, did he say anything else you feel is important?"

Amy looked up at him and didn't answer for awhile. She pretended to be thinking, but really she was debating whether she should tell the two about Paul mentioning prom night or not. She hadn't told anyone yet, and she decided to keep it a secret. Shaking her head, she said, "No. Nothing more than childish name calling. He didn't exactly admit to killing anyone." She then looked back down at her lap.

Steve was certain she was holding something back, but thought maybe she just was afraid to say anything in front of Mike. Looking at her now, he could tell something was bothering her because she was blinking her eyes a lot and avoiding everyone's stares, something he'd seen her do before when she was trying not to cry. He turned to Mike. "What can we do about this?"

"You know as well as I do - nothing. We wouldn't get a restraining order because he hasn't actually approached her." He turned to Amy. "Right?"

She shook her head no without looking up.

"And one phone call isn't going to send anyone into a tizzy, even if a complaint was filed. The best thing we can do is keep her out of sight and away from her apartment until we get something solid to nail this guy. We're not going to get it tonight it seems, so what we all need to do is get some sleep and tackle this fresh in the morning. Hopefully the boys will find something with the sniper while we're asleep."

Steve nodded, knowing Mike was right. He was glad to have a level-headed friend at that moment because he wasn't thinking as objectively as he should. "You're right," he told his partner. "And she's not going anywhere," he said, looking at Amy.

Mike started toward the door, but before he left, he walked back over to Amy. "Everything will be just fine, I promise. I'm not done with him yet," he told her, nodding his head toward Steve and smiling.

Amy looked up at him and smiled. "Thanks," she said quietly.

"I'll walk you out," Steve told Mike. "I need to move my car anyway." He looked at Amy and smiled. He then grabbed his keys and followed Mike out the door.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, Steve asked Mike, "Do you really think this guy will come after me? If he truly murdered all those people, only one of them was probably out of jealousy. She wasn't seeing any of the others."

"Wasn't there another guy? One she met at a conference or something?" Mike asked, knowing full well there was.

"How could that guy possibly count? Amy said they only went out twice, and she didn't even like him!"

"Yes, but you're looking at this with your brain, which is screwed on the right way. Think about it from his perspective...as frightening as that may be. I don't think you need to lay awake at night with your gun by your side, but I do think you should watch your back for now."

Steve shrugged. If Mike was concerned, there probably was something more to this than Steve wanted to admit.

"Besides, you must be more worried than you're leading on. You are moving the car. See you in the morning." Mike got in this car and started the engine.

Steve just stood by his car and shook his head. Admitting fear was not something he really wanted to do, yet there he stood, keys in hand, ready to hide his car.


	22. Chapter 22

**_A/N: I feel like I should put a trigger warning on this chapter. It may be completely unnecessary, but better safe than sorry. It's not graphic, but anything can be a trigger. Probably should have been on the last chapter as well. _**

**_TRIGGER WARNING: This content deals with an account of sexual assault and may be triggering to some people._**

After parking his car around the corner, Steve walked in his apartment and found Amy had fallen over on the couch. Her feet were on the ground, but the upper half of her body was laying on the cushions. Her eyes were wide open, and she appeared to be simply staring at the wall.

"Isn't that uncomfortable?" Steve asked, shutting and locking the door behind him.

"It probably will be eventually." She shivered. "Why is it so cold in here?"

He walked over to the lamp and turned it off, making the room dark except for the small amount of moonlight coming in. "Because you're having a panic attack. Come on, let's go lay down," he told her, sitting her up.

"In there?" she asked. "I'll be fine here."

Steve took her hand and pulled her off the couch onto her feet. Even in the dark, he could tell she made a face at the pain. "It's warmer in there," he told her.

Gingerly she followed Steve into the bedroom and then climbed onto the bed, still wearing her coat.

"No coats in bed. That's what blankets are for," Steve said.

She quickly took the coat off and let it fall to the floor. Then she got under the covers and curled up in a ball, still shaking. The combination of the cold night air she'd walked in and a panic attack were causing her to have uncontrollable tremors.

Steve climbed into the bed and pulled Amy close. "Hey, calm down, okay? You're fine now. Paul isn't going to find you. He's not going to find me either. I have a feeling I won't be going off too many places without police protection for awhile."

"Good," she replied. "I'm glad Mike is worried too."

He rubbed her arm and started breathing with her. "Breathe in...breathe out. In...out…" This went on for a few minutes until she'd stopped shaking.

"I used to do this as a kid," she said once she'd calmed down. "I'd wake up worried about something, and I just start shaking. No matter what I told myself, I couldn't stop. I hadn't had an episode in years, and now I've had several in the past week."

"That's because you're under a lot of stress, and you're scared. We'll get through it though, I promise."

The two lay in silence for a few minutes. Amy, who had her head laying on Steve's chest, was calmer, but still emotional. Steve felt his t-shirt getting wet from the tears that were falling out of her eyes.

"You want to tell me about it?" he asked quietly.

"Tell you about what?"

"What's still bothering you. If you'd truly calmed down and gotten past everything, you wouldn't be getting my shirt wet."

"Nothing is bothering me," she lied.

"You do know I don't believe that for a second, right?"

"I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

Amy paused. "I've never told anyone and it's going to stay that way."

Steve thought for a second. "Whatever happened to you feeling like you could tell me anything without me thinking you were crazy? Weren't those your exact words?"

"This is worse than that though."

"Worse than anything? Unless you're afraid to tell me you killed someone...or that you're going to kill me...I don't think anything you tell me could be that bad."

She sniffed. "I didn't kill anyone. It's just...embarrassing. It'll make you hate me. It would make anyone hate me or think I'm some kind of hypocrite. My own father would have killed me if he'd found out."

"Do you believe I love you?" Steve asked her.

"I guess."

"You guess?"

"At the moment, that's the best I can do."

"Fair enough, but you need to believe that no matter what you tell me, it's not going to make me hate you, be disappointed in you, push you away, or love you any less." He began running his fingers through her hair. "Was it something Paul said?"

Amy took a deep breath. "Yeah."

Steve could tell she was going to be fighting through tears telling him this story, but he didn't say anything more. He felt it best to just let her talk at her own pace.

"He compared you to that one boyfriend I mentioned I had. His name was Craig McCarthy. He was out of my league. I wasn't the most unpopular girl in school, but I wasn't in his league of popularity either. He was a jock...I hung out with the artistic kids, not the cheerleaders, so I never expected a guy like Craig to even know of my existence. We did have chem lab together though, and one day we got paired up. For the whole semester we were lab partners, and that led to friends and, well, you know how it goes."

"Yeah, I think I remember how that works. I'm just wondering if I should be jealous or not."

"You went too far with it." She paused. "Craig went too far with it."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked. He could tell she was having trouble telling the rest of the story, so he said, "Take your time."

A minute passed before she spoke up again. "Craig was my date for senior prom. The night was going alright while we were at the dance, with the exception of Paul, who kept hovering. I remember asking him why he wouldn't go away, and he told me he was worried about me."

"That sounds familiar," Steve said.

"But afterward...Craig wanted to go to some hotel room someone had rented. I didn't want to go, but I was a very insecure teenager and desperate to hang on to a guy, so I went. I sat in the corner and watched Craig get drunk and talk to everyone but me most of the time we were there. Then he decided to leave. I thought he'd finally taken my feelings into consideration, but in reality, his buddies had all decided to go parking with their dates."

Steve let out a sigh, having an idea of where this was going, and he didn't like it. "What did he do?" he asked quietly.

"I think you know what he did...or tried. Didn't go all the way to fourth base, so to speak, but that's only half of it." She paused. "I thought I'd actually gotten lucky, because Paul had naturally followed us up there and...he saved me." Then she chuckled. "Now that I look back at the scene, I realize that Paul was too angry. He pulled Craig out of that car with strength I didn't know he had. I actually had to beg Paul to stop beating on him." Then she said in almost a whisper, "He could have killed him."

"Like I told you this morning, there was something in your subconscious that made you worried about him. That something I said you saw? This could be that something. Between this and the dog…"

"So I knew all along he was bad...and I did nothing about it," Amy said sadly.

"Hey, now. Don't go beating yourself up. We've all made a mistake like that at some time in our lives. I couldn't even count the number of people I've encountered who have told me that they sensed something was amiss with someone they knew or some situation, but they just didn't think anything bad would actually happen. We all have been in denial."

"No one would have believed me anyway. Craig, not wanting to admit that a wimp like Paul had beaten him up so badly, told everyone at school that he got into a fight at a bar. I went along with it because I just didn't care anymore. All I wanted to do was disappear."

"Why?" Steve asked, not sure why having her boyfriend get a little too friendly would cause her this much grief. "Did Craig start spreading rumors around about you or something?"

"Not because of Craig...Paul. And he made sure to remind me of just what he did tonight." She paused to gather her composure again, as pictures of the incident started playing in her mind like a horror movie.

"After he beat up Craig, Paul told me he'd take me home. Thing is, no one was at my house because my parents had gone out for the night with some other couples, so he didn't take no for an answer very well when he asked if I wanted him to come in and 'make sure I was okay.' He came in and I tried telling him that I was fine and I'd just like to go to bed, but he kept telling me the night was young and he didn't feel like going home and hanging out with his parents. I told him he didn't have to go home, but I wanted to be alone. He tells me now is not the time to be alone; it's the time to be with someone who loves you."

Steve could tell by the change in her voice that she was no longer there with him; she had gone back to her house and that night, recalling it as she relived every second.

"Haven't you noticed how much I love you, Amy? Craig doesn't love you! He was using you! Those pretty boys always use and abuse women and then throw them away like trash. The stupid girls keep going back and begging for the jerk to stay with them, but you're not a stupid whore like them, Amy! Don't go crawling back to him! Stay here with me! Let me show you how a real man treats a lady."

Steve took ahold of her left hand. She started squeezing it tightly.

Through heavier tears she continued, "He picks me up and hauls me into my bedroom, throwing me on the bed. Immediately, I get up and try to run out the door, but he's standing in front of it and I can't get around him. I'm a prisoner in my own bedroom and no one can hear me scream! I fought and fought until I was worn out and in pain because he sprained my wrist as he held me onto the bed. After I'd stopped kicking, he starts going on and on about romance and the perfect atmosphere and how sex makes two people one and bonds them together for all eternity."

Steve suddenly felt ill.

"We're soul mates, don't you see? From the first moment we met when you told Billy Baker to stop throwing rocks at the new kid - you were my angel. Be my angel now. Let me give you your wings."

Now Steve knew he was going to be sick.

Amy's grip on his hand tightened so much that his hand started to go numb.

"He tore my dress...he kissed me…"

As she trailed off, she started thrashing around, as if she were actually fighting off Paul. Steve knew this had gone far enough.

"Amy. Amy. AMY," he said, louder and louder until she came back to reality. She stopped fighting and looked up at Steve.

"I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm so sorry."

Steve put her head back down on his chest. "Shhh, it's okay. I don't know what you have to be sorry about; he's the one who should be sorry."

The two lay there in silence while Amy cried herself out. Steve held her tightly, hoping that it made her feel less alone and unprotected. He didn't even want to imagine how she'd felt back then, alone with an unstable man like Paul and no one to turn to for help. Thinking about it made his blood boil.

After Amy had stopped crying, she decided to finish her story. "Just as he was trying to get my dress all the way off, I looked over and saw that I had left a soda bottle on my nightstand. I struggled to reach it, but I finally did and hit him over the head as hard as I could. Didn't knock him out cold, but it stopped him."

"Good for you!" Steve said, glad to hear that she'd had some fight still in her...and that Paul hadn't managed to go all the way.

"He was so sorry. He sat there on the floor apologizing left and right, probably because his head hurt so bad. He left, all embarrassed. I felt disgusting, so I went and sat in the shower and let the water run on me for hours until I felt somewhat clean again. Then I tried to pretend nothing happened. I shoved the dress into the back of my closet, cleaned up the broken glass, and went to bed before my parents even got home. For the next several weeks, I did one hell of an acting job around everyone. No one knew anything was bothering me. I buried it as far down as I could. I even forgave Paul, just to pretend it didn't happen."

"You poor thing," was all Steve could manage to say. He couldn't come up with any better words to express how bad he felt for Amy,

"Then, he calls tonight and brings it all back out. He said what we were doing was 'making love' because if it weren't love, I would have told someone," she said, choking up again. "He told me you were just another Craig...and you're just fooling me into thinking you're a good guy, but once you get me alone…" She choked on her words. "I'll wish Paul would be there to save me."

Now Steve was beyond mad. Not only had Paul tried to intimidate and manipulate Amy, but now he was trying to fill her head with lies about him. He had to take a moment to calm himself down before he lost it.

"Please tell me you don't believe that. Please tell me that you don't think I would _ever_ do anything like that to you."

There was a sadness in Steve's voice that was not lost on Amy. She rolled over onto her back and looked up at the ceiling.

"On my way here, I passed that café we ate at this morning. I kind of laughed to myself because I realized it had only been just this morning; it seems like days ago. I looked at the place and thought about how much has changed today, most of it not good. I've been told so many lies...or I was just in denial...I don't know, but I felt better about life while I was in that café than I do now. Then I got to wondering if my whole life was a lie. Like, my only purpose on earth is to be a proverbial punching bag for everyone. I need one thing in my life to be true. I need someone to assure me that they are on my side."

Steve rolled over onto his side and looked at her. "Let me be that one thing. I haven't lied to you, and I sure as hell am not going to hurt you like anyone else has. I'm sorry that you seem to have a bunch of manipulative con artists in your life; if I could snap my fingers and take away all the pain they've caused, I would do it in a heartbeat. But don't think that I'll eventually end up in that group. All I have wanted since I first saw you was for you to be happy. That's still all I want. I don't know what all these other people want, but screw them. They don't matter and they're not going to get to you as long as I'm around. Please trust that..and me."

Amy looked into his eyes. "I guess if you're still willing to put up with a used piece of trash with too much baggage that's a huge hypocrite by staying friends with her attacker, the least I can do is trust you. I still don't see why you don't hate me though."

"For almost being raped by someone you trusted and then doing whatever you needed to stay sane? First of all, that wasn't in any way your fault, so you have nothing to feel ashamed about. Second, it doesn't make you 'used trash.' It doesn't make you anything less that you have always been, and frankly, I love that girl, no matter what she's been through. There isn't a Paul, or a Craig, or anyone else who's going to change my mind." He then leaned over, kissed her gently on the lips, and set his forehead on hers. "Thanks for trusting me enough to tell me though. I know it was hard."

Amy half-heartedly chuckled. "Maybe I do trust you more than I lead on. I never even told my mother this."

Steve lay back down, placing his head next to hers and draping his right arm over her stomach. "You can always trust me, okay?"

Amy nodded, wiping tears off her face.

"And I promise you, as long as I'm alive, Paul will never hurt you again. Right now though, I think we both need some sleep," Steve said through a yawn.

"Okay," Amy said, taking ahold of his right hand in her left and closing her eyes. "Hey, Steve?" she said after a little while.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

Steve responded by kissing her on the cheek.

* * *

Steve slowly opened his eyes. He wasn't sure why he'd woken up, but then he didn't even remember falling asleep. He found himself looking at Amy, who was sleeping on her right side facing him and fast asleep. It was the most peaceful she'd looked all day. Even with the much needed peace, she still appeared to be sleeping rather restlessly. Her eyes were fluttering wildly under her eyelids, telling Steve she was dreaming. Her subconscious had plenty of pain to deal with and it didn't surprise him to see it coming out in her sleep. At least she was in a deep enough sleep to have dreams. He, on the other hand, didn't feel as if he'd gotten that far. His mind kept going to the night Amy had told him about. Every time he closed his eyes, he'd think about Amy trying to fight off Paul. Try as he may, he couldn't get the image of Amy, struggling to get Paul off of her, out of his mind. He hadn't even known Amy at the time, but he would have given anything to go back and save her - to be the one to hear her screams of anguish and desperation. All he could do was worry about how it had, and still was, affecting her.

He wondered what he could do to make her whole again. Arresting Paul and putting an end to his torment would help, but how much? He knew better than to assume that would be a cure all and she'd be a hundred percent afterward. She would still be dealing with his attack, her father's death, and being shot at Carl's funeral. He considered consulting with Lenny on ways to help her, but that would depend on her willingness to be helped by therapy. She'd been reluctant to trust anyone with what happened in the past six years, so she might not be open to talking with a complete stranger. Maybe getting away from town for awhile would do the trick. Steve thought maybe he could take her somewhere she would feel safe and relaxed. They could find a quiet beach in Hawaii, or maybe an isolated cabin in the woods. Even getting lost in a big city far away from San Francisco could help.

Then he started to think about their relationship. Here it was, early in the morning on a Tuesday, and he was laying in bed looking at a girl he'd met only the previous Wednesday. Seven days ago, he'd been living the same kind of day he'd been living for months - getting up, going to work, spending way too much time there, and during the brief downtimes, seeing various girls or hanging out with Mike. Now he was planning to take this woman to remote locales and hide from life with her. Mike was probably right - he was getting in deep, and it was probably too quick as well, but nothing about the situation felt wrong to Steve. He'd never been one to live life in the slow lane anyway, and that included his love life. Unlike other relationships he'd had though, this one was different. This wasn't an exciting fling or something Steve saw no long-term future in - it was serious, and he was dead serious about it. The first time he saw her, he knew she was different and he felt different about her than any other woman he'd ever met. He could see himself doing what he was doing now for many years to come - waking up next to her. She'd be fast asleep, her hair in her face and looking like hell after a long day of helping society. The phone would ring, and it would be Mike, calling him out to a middle of the night murder scene. She'd wake up and ask where he was going. He'd have to apologize for waking her up for the hundredth time as he quickly got dressed. She'd smile, get up, and help him find his clothes in the dark. On the way out the door, he'd feel like he had to apologize again for constantly leaving her and not being home - and she would just smile, wish him luck on his case, and kiss him goodbye, fully understanding that that was just what he had to do. He smiled to himself; he didn't know if that was exactly how the scene would go, but Amy had made it pretty clear that she didn't mind his inconsistent schedule or anything else about his job. She _was_ different.

He rolled over and looked at the clock on his nightstand. It was two minutes past six, which made Steve groan. He felt like he slept for an hour, but if he wanted to get to work on time, he'd have to get up.

An hour later, Steve stood at his closet, trying to pick a tie in the dark.

"Just turn on the light," Amy said.

He turned around. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No, I just woke up."

He walked over to the lamp and switched it on.

Amy made a face at the brightness.

"Sorry again."

"That's alright. What time is it?"

"Seven. You can go back to sleep," Steve said, going back to his tie picking duties.

"Eh. I feel like I should be getting up and making you coffee or something."

Steve chose a tie and started putting it on. As he did so, he walked over to the bed and sat down on the side Amy was laying on. "You don't have to do that unless you're hungry."

Amy sat up and shook her head. "Too early for that." She turned herself so that she was sitting next to Steve. "You probably didn't get much sleep last night."

"Enough. How are you feeling?"

"Too early for that too. I told you I wasn't a morning person."

Steve grinned. "You weren't lying."

Amy looked down at her feet and saw her coat. "I just got here and already I'm messing up your bedroom," she said, leaning over and picking up the coat off the floor. As she did, the journal fell out. "Oh, I forgot all about this part," she muttered.

"What part?" Steve, done tying his tie, leaned over and picked up the journal. "Did you find something in here?"

"Oh yeah...I sure did."

"That bad...or that good?"

Amy shrugged. "Depends on perspective. To a detective, possibly good. To me, not so much." She took the journal from Steve and started flipping pages. Once she reached the ones toward the back, she handed the book back to him. "In case you want to follow along with my summary."

He looked at the pages and could make out a few words, but not all.

"Basically, these pages detail phone conversations between Carl and a girl named Mitzi, with whom he was having an affair."

Steve made widened his eyes at something he read. "A six year old heard _that_?"

Amy patted him on the back. "You read something! See, you are picking up kidspeak. And yes, a six year old heard that."

"Who is this Mitzi? Do you know her?"

"Sounds like one of his students. I thought the name sounded familiar, but I can't seem to place it. She's probably an undergrad."

"He was having an affair with a student?" Steve asked in disbelief.

"Mmm hmm, but that's not the best part." She flipped a couple pages and pointed to some writing. "See if you can read this. From a week before Carl died."

Steve took a moment to decipher the writing. "Bright...Horizons? What is that?"

"It's a residency center for single mothers. They had a counselor job open that I had really hoped to at least interview for. Carl originally told me about it and said I'd be perfect for it. I really had high hopes for that one. It seemed like it was taking forever for the lady who runs the site to do interviews, and I kept asking Carl about it. 'She's probably busy,' he'd say. 'I'll call her and ask.' I actually believed him."

As she was talking, Steve was reading on. "He...ohhh," he muttered, reading the part where Carl revealed that he was leading Amy on. "He was getting a job he promised you for his girlfriend?" He looked at Amy with sadness and pity in his eyes.

"Looks that way, yeah. I put all my trust and confidence into a man who was a two-faced ass."

"And here I was wondering why you're so distrustful." He shook his head, turned to her, and gave her a hug. "I am so sorry, Honey. I know this must be a huge blow to you."

She wrapped her arms around him and buried her head in his shoulder. "That's a bit of an understatement," she said sadly.

"I can't believe that guy," he said angrily. "And I thought his wife was a horrible person. Sleeping with your students? What a bastard."

"For awhile there, after I first read that, I was actually kind of glad he was dead. I wished I could bring him back to life, make him feel as bad as he made me feel, and then kill him again. That makes me sound horrible."

"Not any more horrible than me wanting to kill Paul for what he did to you...or now Carl for what he did. It probably is a good thing I can't tell him what I think of him." Steve let go of Amy and stood up. "I mean, what kind of people lie to and manipulate someone as sweet and caring as you?"

"The kind that see a weak, naive person?"

"Weak...they've made you think you were weak so they could prey on you. Parasites." Steve kicked his dresser and threw the journal hard toward the bed. It bounced off the wall with a loud thud, making Amy jump. She quickly grabbed the book, checking it for damage.

He suddenly felt very angry and vengeful. How dare these two hurt his girl like that? She did nothing but give them her full trust, and they threw it back in her face. In the midst of his temper tantrum, he got a thought.

"How frustrated were you with Carl's disregard for helping you? Did you notice it much before the journal?" he asked Amy.

She was a bit shaken from Steve's display of indignation. "I...well, I can't say I wasn't unhappy. I was getting tired of being a nanny...and I did hear about some of the people I graduated with getting jobs. That made me feel like there was something wrong with me. So I guess a bit."

"Did you ever mention it to Paul?"

"I...I don't know. I may have." She thought for a moment. "I think I may have mentioned something like, Carl seems to not be hooking me up with his friends as much as he promised. I'm not exactly sure. Why?"

"Motive."

"What?"

"Paul wants to be your knight in shining armor - to save you from all the evil people in your life, right?"

Amy nodded.

"So you tell him your boss is doing you wrong. He's good at stalking people, so he follows Carl around, seeing if he can get any dirt on the guy. Maybe he thinks if he can blackmail Carl or something, the man will change his tune and help you. Oh, but then maybe he sees Carl with Mitzi and realizes the kind of guy he's dealing with - one of those really evil people in your life. You see where I'm going with this?"

Amy looked at Steve, not quite sure what to think. "You think Paul killed Carl because he found out what he was doing to me?"

"Anything to look like your savior," Steve told her.

"But what good did it do? I didn't even know!"

"Murder isn't always logical."

"No, I suppose not. Where'd you come up with this?"

"Because I think, as sick as this sounds, I finally understand him. If I can get mad enough at Carl that I want him dead, so could he. I just wouldn't act on it."

"Please don't go any further into his brain. Please." Amy looked at Steve almost as if she feared him.

Steve put his hands on her face and kissed her. "Don't worry. I don't take my job that seriously."

"Do you take me that seriously?" she asked.

Steve wasn't sure how to answer. He didn't really like the fearful look Amy was giving him. "Yes...but in a different way. I want to protect you too, but not at the expense of someone else's life."

Amy looked at his almost as if she didn't quite believe him.

"Trust me," Steve said.

"Oh, I do. I just don't want you to lose your head over it. Like Mike said, I don't want you doing something you'll regret. Neither of us want to lose you."

Reality set in. Mike worried about that last night and now Amy was worrying about it this morning. Perhaps he was getting in this too deep. He suddenly felt rather uneasy with himself. Having his girlfriend look at him with fear in her eyes concerned him.

"I need to get to work. Try to get some more sleep, okay? And don't go out anywhere."

"Where would I go? I have no clothes," she said.

"Right." He walked out the door of his bedroom and into the living room. Amy jumped up and followed him as best she could on feet that still hurt. On his way out the door, she called to him.

"Hey, I love you!" But he didn't stop. He slammed the door and ran down the stairs, leaving Amy alone and confused.


	23. Chapter 23

Steve walked into the squadroom and slowly walked to his desk. He didn't really want to say what he felt he had to, but he didn't want to jeopardize his job and the case either. When he got to his desk, he saw Mike wasn't in his office anyway. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then his phone rang.

"Keller, homicide."

"You left before I could finish the story," Amy said on the other end. "There was another bit of information in Jasmine's journal."

"Oh?" was all he said. He felt ashamed at his behavior earlier and now didn't quite know how to talk to her.

"From the grocery store. Jasmine saw a man standing behind me. She said he put something in my basket while I was standing by the tea. I thought that was important."

"Yeah, it is. Did she say anything about him?"

"No."

Steve grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from off his desk. "What day was that again?"

"The day before Carl died."

Steve wrote the information down. "That might prove to be very helpful." He paused. "I'm sorry I didn't give you a chance to tell me before."

"Are you mad at me?" she asked.

"No, I'm mad at myself." He turned around and saw Mike coming in the room. In his hand was a folder, which he was reading through as he walked to his office.

"Hey, I have to go. Thanks for calling. And, uh, sorry about this morning. I'll...I'll talk to you later," he said, still upset with himself. He didn't even give Amy a chance to say goodbye.

Mike, noticing his partner was now off the phone, called him into his office.

"You have something?" Steve asked, walking into the office and closing the door.

"Howard's jacket. He did three years in San Quentin - got out six months ago."

"What for?" Steve asked.

"Aggravated assault. Says here that Howard threatened to shoot a guy in the head. Apparently the guy had hired Howard to kill his wife, but when Howard saw the wife, he couldn't kill her."

"A hired hitman that suddenly grew a conscience? That's unusual."

"The woman looked too much like his ex-wife, he said. So he goes to tell who hired him that he'd have to find another person to do the hit. The guy goes berserk on Howard, and Howard beats him and holds a gun to his head."

Steve shook his head at the oddness of the situation. "So he got three years for self defense?"

"Ten for the attempted murder. It wasn't the first time we'd had him connected to a contracted hit, but there was never enough evidence to take him to trial. I guess the judge decided to make him pay for the others with this one. Got out in three for good behavior." Mike sighed. "Don't you love the legal system? Gets out in three years just so we can catch him and throw him right back in. What a waste."

"So he looks pretty good for a hired hit then?" Steve commented.

"Surely." Mike pulled a piece of paper out of the folder. "Get a load of this. The department gave him a psych evaluation in prison. He came back from Vietnam with combat fatigue. He'd been there twice by that time, 1970. Second time he came back, he caught his wife with another man. This exacerbated his condition. She leaves him and all he has left is the job he left behind. However, he'd become unreliable and quick-tempered, so they let him go."

"Ouch," Steve said.

"Someone at the VA let him fall through the cracks and he fell off the grid. Somewhere in that time, the guy determines the one thing he's good at is sniping, so he makes that his life's work. His specialty appears to be killing those who have done someone wrong. Cheating spouses, bad bosses, etc." Mike flipped to another sheet. "This list of cold cases possibly attached to him is pretty extensive...and telling. Several cheaters on here."

"Killing his own wife repeatedly...unless the woman looks like his wife I guess." Steve then sat and thought for a second. "Wait. Let's put this scenario into our case. Say Paul told Howard that Milani was having an affair with his 'wife.' He doesn't want his wife killed, just her lover. Somehow one of them finds out that Milani will be at the hospital."

Mike looked at Steve over the top of his glasses, not completely understanding Steve's theory.

"Just trust me on this and I promise I'll explain it in more detail later. Paul sees himself as Amy's avenger. If someone does her wrong, he makes them pay for it. Seeing as Milani was in jail and getting to him up close would be impossible, he decides shooting him from far away is his best bet. Paul's not a sniper, so he hires one. Howard is perfect. Paul, who also sees himself as Amy's love interest, tells Howard that Milani had seduced his wife or something. Howard sympathizes with him and agrees to the hit. He was the perfect candidate to pull it off."

Mike nodded. "That makes sense. If we ever find the guy, we'll have to ask him. Tell me something though. Where did this theory come from? I thought Paul Carpenter was just a stalker and that he might have killed a guy he was jealous of."

"Details now...okay. That journal Amy was reading. Last night before the whole thing happened with Paul, she was reading it. Toward the back, she reads that Carl was having an affair with one of his students - a student that he was helping get a job instead of Amy. It sounds like the whole time he was pretending to help Amy, he was actually hurting her. I ask her if she'd ever mentioned any frustrations to Paul that would make him dig into Carl's day to day activities. She thought she had. So maybe he goes and follows the guy and sees him with this girlfriend. He's not exactly a level-headed man to start with, so he decides to kill Carl to avenge Amy."

Mike sat and thought the theory over.

"You don't buy it, do you?" Steve asked.

"I didn't say that. Actually, it sounds plausible. Like you said, the guy isn't playing with a full deck. There are just a lot of missing pieces that we need to find before we start making concrete accusations. Who is this girlfriend?"

Steve shook his head. "All it says is Mitzi, and Amy couldn't remember a Mitzi."

"We need to find her. We also need to get the results back on those fingerprints. What could be taking those guys so long?" Mike asked, exasperated. He picked up the phone as Steve stood up to leave. However, he put the phone down and turned back to Steve. "What's chewing on you?"

"What?"

"You just look bothered by something."

"Well, I didn't have the greatest of nights last night."

"Oh? Something more happen after I left?" Mike asked, concerned.

Steve sat back down. "When Amy was first telling me about the phone call, I had a feeling she was leaving something out. Then when you were there talking to her, I still had that feeling, so after you left, I asked her to tell me."

"Bad?"

Steve leaned over and put his elbows on his knees. "I almost wished I wouldn't have asked, but she needed to tell someone." He put his face in his hands for a second, trying to spit the words out. "Back in high school, Paul tried to rape her. She'd buried it in her subconscious all these years, but he brought it back up when he called her. He's using it against her, and it pissed me off."

Mike made a face. "That's a rough one. How's she doing this morning?"

"She acts like she's fine, but she's lying. Even at my place, she won't feel safe; she can't run away from bad memories. On top of that, she tells me about Carl screwing her over. She doesn't feel like she can trust anyone; I'm not 100% sure she even trusts me."

"Hey, don't let it get to you," Mike said in his best loving-father voice. "She's been hit with a lot in a short amount of time, and I doubt she ever fully recovered from her father dying, so adding to an already fragile mind only makes dealing with the weight harder. If she didn't trust you, she wouldn't have come to you last night."

Steve sat up. "It's just…" He hit the arm of the chair with his fist with enough strength, it made Mike jump. "All these things have made me so damn mad...I think I actually understand if Paul's motive for killing Carl was out of anger at what he was doing. He was ruining any chance Amy thought she had for a job and he didn't seem to care! _I_ wanted to kill the guy! I want to kill Paul for what he did to her! I even scared _her_ this morning. She honestly wondered if I would do something drastic."

He got up and started pacing the floor. He walked back and forth a couple times before stopping in front of Mike's desk.

Mike looked at his partner and saw anger and sadness in his eyes. He'd seen several cases affect Steve emotionally, but never to this extent.

"Maybe you were right," Steve told him.

"Right about what?" Mike asked.

"When you said last night that maybe you should take me off this case. I thought about it all the way here this morning. You warned me before about keeping my cool...and now I'm not sure if I can."

Mike stood up and looked at Steve.

"You really think you can just walk away from this?"

Steve didn't know how to answer.

"Because I don't," Mike told him. "You've wanted to solve this since you first brought it to me, and I don't think you can just walk away from it without somehow being involved in finding the answers. You'd go stir crazy. Now, I didn't say that you probably _shouldn't_ be kicked off the case; a clear conflict of interest has developed. That being said, I still believe in you. I think you will be able to handle it from now on, especially since you're worried about not handling it. It's when cops don't realize they should walk away that I worry. They think they have all the answers and they're the only ones who can do the job. You, though, you see your weaknesses and were willing to tell me about them."

Steve just shrugged. Mike was right - he didn't want to walk away. He wanted to be the one to put Paul behind bars, but even if Mike had faith in his ability to control his emotions, he didn't share the sentiment.

"Do you want to walk away?" Mike asked.

"No, I don't," Steve said matter-of-factly.

"Then you're staying on. Perhaps on paper, I'll be flying solo on this, but in reality - out there on the street - I want you on this case with me. I want to see you solve it and be the hero," Mike said, smiling.

"Oh yeah, I feel like a real hero," Steve said facetiously.

"Doesn't matter how you feel. It only matters how _she_ sees you."

Steve smirked, still not feeling like anyone's hero.

Mike's phone rang. "Stone," he answered. Steve was about to walk out of the office, but Mike snapped his fingers, indicating Steve needed to stay. "Where?" he asked the caller. "When?"

Steve could tell whatever this was, it was big.

"The minute he gets in this building, you call me! I get first crack at him. Save your breath; this is also my case and I outrank you." He hung up the phone.

Steve was surprised by Mike's show of superiority. "What was that all about?"

"They got Howard. Lessing and Tanner are bringing him in soon." Mike clapped his hands, ready to nail the guy to the proverbial wall.

"Really? They were able to track him down in only a day? I figured he'd be long gone, like in Canada or somewhere."

"Guess he's not much for running."

"You have to let me in on the interview," Steve said, completely changing his tune from just seconds before.

"I thought you wanted out?" Mike said, teasing. "But no can do, Buddy Boy. You're not technically even on this case. The two cases aren't connected yet."

"But Mike...I have to ask this guy if Paul is the one who hired him!" Steve was stooping to pleas.

"I'm capable of asking that too you know."

Steve started to retort, but Mike cut him off. "Sorry, but not this time, Steve." He could tell the young man was less than thrilled with his decision, so he added, "Why don't you give me that picture you had. I'll show it to him and ask if Paul's the guy who hired him. I'll make sure to remind him it will be worth his while to put some of the blame on the person who hired him."

Steve relented. He knew Mike would ask all the right questions and get under the guy's skin if he were to try and clam up, so he walked out to his desk, grabbed the picture from a drawer, and gave it to Mike.

"In the meantime, you can do some work on the case you are on. We need to find this Mitzi woman, we need to talk to people who knew our other possible victims, we need to light a fire under those guys in the lab!"

"I need to call UCSF and ask them about Paul. Oh, and I forgot the most important thing in that journal. Jasmine saw a man put something in or take something out of Amy's grocery basket the day she bought the tea. I'm guessing that's how she ended up with the tainted stuff, so we need security footage from the store," Steve said.

"And you want to take time to do an interview? You're busy enough as it is! Go, get to it, Superman!"

"Oh, I'm Superman now? I thought you were?" Steve said, joshing Mike.

"I'm willing to share," Mike said, smiling.


	24. Chapter 24

Steve sat at his desk, staring at the stack of files he'd just gathered. The files were everything any agency available had on his remaining victims - Darren, Brenda, Shawn, and Shannon. Also in the pile sat everything he knew about his suspect, which unfortunately wasn't much. It wasn't a big pile, but Steve had no idea where to start. Which of the five people should he investigate first? Who did he talk to about them? He was afraid he and Mike would end up interviewing a hundred people just to find one who knew something. Then there was the many phone calls to make - to the lab, the grocery store, UCSF, Berkeley...he didn't feel like gluing the phone to his ear.

Instead, he pulled out a notepad and made a list of all the things that needed done. Maybe if his tasks were in list form, they'd be easier to tackle. As he was writing, Mike's phone rang. Steve got up and answered it. It was the lab with the results from both the tea box and the tox screen. Carl Duncan did have trace amounts of mexasofaline in his body. The drug had already been removed by his liver, but Bernie managed to find some in remaining blood that had not run through the liver prior to death. As far as the fingerprints, one was found inside the box. After running it through the state database, it came back as belonging to a Paul Carpenter.

Steve almost jumped for joy. The more evidence that pointed directly to Paul, the happier Steve would be. After hanging up, he decided all he needed to nail Paul for Carl's murder was proof that he had access to mexasofaline. He walked back out to his desk and looked at his list. He grabbed a pencil, crossed off _Call UCSF_, and picked up the phone.

After finding out that Paul had been enrolled in the Clinical Research Master's program, Steve got a list of people in the clinical research department who knew and worked closely with him. He hung up the phone, adding _Go to UCSF_ to his to-do list.

At that time, Tanner and Lessing came in, leading Curtis Howard into an interview room. Mike was right behind the trio and made a beeline to the room. Steve watched as the three got right to the interrogation. He was a bit upset at his exclusion, but he also knew Mike would get the answers they needed. He turned around and tried to put it out of his mind. There were plenty of other things for him to do.

Steve's phone rang. He answered it and found himself talking to Inspector Carlisle in Fraud.

"Keller, you owe me one for taking this Duncan mess off your hands," Carlisle said, lightheartedly.

"Oh really? And why is that?"

"Because I'm not a marriage counselor. You know what these two lunatics were doing with their money?"

"Do I want to know?" Steve asked.

"Probably not. They were blackmailing _each other_."

"They were _what_?" Steve asked, thinking maybe he misheard.

"The wife was having an affair with their accountant."

"Yeah, I knew that one."

"The husband found out and apparently thought the best way to get back at her was to drain her of her family's inheritance. She had to pay him so much money every month or he would tell her family she was a cheater. I guess that would have upset her blue blood family a lot."

"Wait, she was wealthy on her own? She sure didn't make it sound that way to us," Steve said. "So why was she blackmailing him?"

"Same reason, cheating. She found out he was dating one of his students, she threatened to tell his bosses at Berkeley, so he bought her any damn thing she wanted."

"So basically, they were passing the same money back and forth?" Steve shook his head at the stupidity of it all.

"Well, sort of. The thing is, none of the money seems like it came from legitimate sources. The checks to Janice that were supposedly blackmail checks from her husband were from an offshore account. We've been looking into this account and it is setting off all sorts of red flags. It also appears to be somehow linked to that shelter Carl Duncan is...well, was...building."

"So what you're saying is that I just gave you a whole lot of work to do," Steve joshed.

"Remind me to thank you later. Did get an arrest out of the way though," Carlisle said.

"Oh? Whose?"

"Janice Duncan's."

"No," Steve gasped in disbelief. "What did you get her on? She slap you or something?" Steve found himself a little too happy to see this woman behind bars.

"Her husband was writing checks off a illegal account. She was writing counterfeit checks."

"Wait a minute. Carl was depositing phony checks and he never noticed?"

"They shared an accountant, remember? Pretty sure he was in on it. The further we dig, the more crap we find. The DA's office is going to have a field day with this...and they won't like us too well."

"Wow. I didn't think it was going to go that deep," Steve said.

Carlisle laughed. "Neither did I. Just thought you'd want to know what came of what you gave me."

"Thanks. Oh, say, how did you learn all about Carl's side of this? Who did you talk to?"

"Got most of the information from his girlfriend. Sounds like he told her everything, though she wasn't involved."

"Is her name Mitzi?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, Mitzi Granger. Why?"

"Because I think she could help Mike and me on the murder part of that case. You have a phone number or address on her?"

"Uh, yeah, let me see."

Steve could hear Carlisle looking through papers.

"Ah, here it is," he finally said. "We found her at a place on Judah Street. 2420, number 4."

"Thanks. That helps a lot." As Steve was writing the address down, another thought came to his mind. "Let me ask you another question. Since Carl Duncan is dead, and Janice Duncan is in jail...where's their daughter?"

"Foster home I'm pretty sure, or at least on the way. I know someone from Child Welfare was getting there as we were leaving. Want me to find out?"

"No, that's okay. I'll call down there. She's also been a valuable part of our investigation, so I want to make sure I can find her if I need to. Thanks for the news."

"Any time, Keller." Carlisle hung up the phone, after which Steve did the same.

He was grateful for the one less thing he had to do - find Mitzi. On the other hand, he was not grateful for the fact that Jasmine was thrown in foster care, simply for the fact that Amy would be heartbroken everything had come down to that. He decided he was too busy to tell Amy until much later in the day anyway - a saving grace.

He turned back and looked at the interview room. Lessing had left, but the team of Tanner and Stone were still going at the suspect, though it didn't look like either of them were losing their cool. _Hopefully we'll get the answer we need_, he thought to himself before turning back to his pile of folders.

Grabbing his notebook, he started making a list of addresses he and Mike would need to call on during the day. At the top he wrote UCSF, then Mitzi Granger's; those would be their first stops. After that, who knew? What he did know was that he needed to get security footage from the grocery store sooner or later, and figuring it might take all day for a lowly store security guard to round it up, Steve got on the phone to get the process started.

* * *

"You know, wanting to take all the blame is admirable. It's the sign of a...strong relationship among people when one will take the heat off the other, even if the other was also involved." Mike smiled at Curtis Howard. "However, when we're talking about murder, it's actually quite stupid. Wouldn't you say that, Bill?" Mike turned and looked at Tanner.

"Oh, absolutely. Nothing like going to jail for someone else's crime."

"What do you mean, 'Someone else's crime'? It was all mine; I'm the only sniper in this town who could pull off something like that," Howard said as if he were boasting.

"Something that you would not have done had someone not paid you," Mike reminded him. "You don't go after people for your own gain. Well, other than monetary."

"Your M.O. is not going after personal targets and you know it," Tanner said.

"Maybe I decided to go after the scum of the town, like a one-man vigilante. That guy was scum, so I got rid of him."

"Why was he scum?" Mike asked, fishing for clues that Howard was hiding something.

"All cheaters are scum! When a man and a woman enter into the vows of holy matrimony, those vows are sacred and eternal. Anyone who breaks them deserves to die and rot in Hell with all the other sinners of the world. It's my place to put them there," he said as if he were declaring his status as God.

Mike and Bill just looked at each other, both realizing they were not dealing with a well man - or one who knew the truth. Mike was pleasantly surprised though - Steve's theory seemed to be coming true right before his eyes.

"The man you shot, Nick Milani, he was a cheater?" Mike asked for clarification.

Howard nodded.

"How did you know that? Was he having an affair with your girlfriend?" Mike said, trying to trap him into revealing he had a 'partner'.

"Because he…" Howard started to say, then stopped. "Because he told me he was."

Mike and Bill looked at each other again, knowing they'd gotten him. All they needed to do now was push until he broke.

"He told you? The victim told you. Hmm." Mike stared at him for awhile.

"What?" Howard was getting unnerved by Mike's glare.

"I'm just wondering how that happened, that's all. The man was out of town until a few days ago, and then he was in jail for the rest of the time. Did you visit him? How'd he find you?"

Howard just shrugged.

"Let me lay this out for you," Mike said. "You're looking at 25 to life for this. I suppose that might not mean anything to you now, considering you have nothing to live for…"

"Who says I don't?" Howard interrupted. "My wife is getting close to taking me back!"

"Oh! Pardon me." Mike turned to Bill. "Maybe he doesn't want to be in prison for the rest of his life then."

"I certainly wouldn't. Very few women are willing to wait for a man to maybe get parole in 15 years," Bill added.

Howard looked at Bill Tanner, clearly bothered by what he said.

"There is an alternative though," Mike said. "If you were to admit that someone hired you, your sentence would be greatly reduced. The other guy...he'd probably do more time than you."

Howard looked at Mike. "No life term?"

"I'm not the D.A., but I would feel confident in saying no." At this point, Mike was hardly above lying. "Who hired you?"

Howard looked between Mike and Bill, trying to decide what to do.

"Some twerp," he finally said. "He told me this guy Milani had been tricking his wife into sleeping with him. The guy was at his wit's end. He'd tried dealing with the guy civilly - which never works - but the guy was not letting go of the woman. So he came to me for a final solution. At first I was leary; the guy was in jail. But you know, I like a challenge. Plus, he paid me ten thousand for it. Worth the risk."

"This twerp have a name?" Bill asked.

"Probably...everyone does. He didn't enlighten me, and I didn't care. His money was green."

Mike got into his jacket pocket and pulled out the picture of Paul, Amy, and Karen. "Assuming the man had a face, would you recognize it if you saw it?"

Howard shrugged again.

Mike placed the photograph on the table and pushed it toward Howard, who leaned over and looked at it. "Anyone in this picture hire you?" Mike asked.

"The guy. Yeah, that was him. Looks like a twerp even in pictures. Rich twerp though."

"You're sure?" Mike asked for the record.

"Absolutely. That girl next to him, the brunette? That's his wife. He showed me pictures of her. Pretty girl. I kind of wondered why she'd be with a guy like him, but like I said, he has money."

Mike smiled. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" He stood up.

Lessing knocked on the door and entered. "Here's that list you wanted, Mike," he said before handing Mike the papers and leaving.

Mike took the papers and began looking through them. "So how did you manage to know that Milani was going to be at the emergency entrance of General at that very time? That's not exactly something one can plan on." He sat back down.

Howard just shrugged. "Divine intervention."

"Right. Happens all the time," Mike quipped. No one said anything for a minute while Mike looked through the papers Lessing gave him. "Well, what do we have here?" he finally said.

"What?" Howard asked.

"It seems that a 'Howard Curtis, Esquire' visited Nick Milani in jail the day before he was shot." Mike turned to Bill. "I wonder who that is?" he said sarcastically.

Bill shrugged. "Must be why he didn't want a lawyer."

Nervous, Howard tried changing the subject. "So when do I get my deal?" Howard asked.

"I'm not in charge of deals. That will be between the attorney you didn't want and the D.A." Mike opened the door and yelled for Sekulavich.

* * *

"Will she be back later today?" Steve asked someone on the other end of the phone line. "Well, if she does come back today, will you have her give me a call at the number I gave you? That's right, Inspector Keller. Homicide, yeah. Thank you." He hung up the phone.

For the last ten minutes, he'd been trying any number listed in the folders for the remaining victims. Some he had had luck with. Others, like his latest phone call to Darren Oberlander's mother, were turning into dead ends. He guessed that he and Mike would end up knocking on doors later, hoping they opened to someone who was willing to talk and had information.

As Tanner and Sekulavich led Howard out of the interview room and off to booking, Mike quickly walked over to Steve. He patted him on the shoulder happily.

"I should never doubt your intuition," he told the young man.

Steve looked up at him. "Oh? What happened?"

Mike let the picture fall on his desk. "Positive ID, Buddy Boy! And it happened pretty much like you said it would. Paul told Howard that he wanted the man who was having an affair with his wife dead. Paid him ten thousand to do it."

Steve couldn't help but smile. "I knew it! But how'd he know where to be?"

"I had Lessing get me the visitor log for the jail. Howard visited him once pretending to be a lawyer. I'm guessing that he was somehow able to convince Milani that trying to kill himself would get him out. Sounds like a really great plan, no?"

"The best. So when do we…" Steve was interrupted by his phone. "Keller, homicide"

"Inspector Keller, this is Mildred Kirchner from Glen Johnson's office."

"Hey, I didn't expect to hear from you so soon," Steve said cheerfully.

"I would have called sooner, but, well, I admit. I was a bit apprehensive about going into that office after all this time, so I put it off until this morning."

"I heard that it's been locked for the last two years."

"Oh yes. No one has been in there, not even to clean. Did Amy tell you that?"

"She did. Did you find anything?" Steve asked.

"Actually...yes." Mildred's tone had been more cheery, but upon saying this, it turned sorrowful.

"I take it you found something incriminating."

"Getting into the office was actually no small feat. After you called yesterday, I called Mrs. Johnson to ask for the key. She's the only one who had a key to Glen's office."

"Amy did tell me her mother wouldn't allow anyone in the office."

"She didn't tell you the half of it then! I had to fight like hell, if you'll excuse my language, just to get the key. I thought telling her that the police were asking about Glen's death would get her to open up; I thought she'd actually be sort of, well, not happy, but…"

"I think I know what you mean," Steve told her. "It sounds like several people questioned the circumstances surrounding his death. Mrs. Johnson wasn't one of them?"

"Oh, I don't really know what is going on with that woman. Maybe she's still so overcome by grief that she refuses to even talk about it, but I would think she'd be a little grateful to have definitive answers."

"Well, when it comes to things like this, some people don't handle the truth well; it's too painful for them."

"I suppose. She finally gave me the key, but she was almost furious."

Steve wondered to himself if Amy would end up hearing about it from her mother. It didn't sound like it would be a pleasant conversation, but then he realized her mother wouldn't find her at his place anyway - another saving grace.

"I walked in and at first, it looked like nothing was out of place; it looked the same as it always had. The more I looked around though, the more something bothered me."

"What was that?"

"This picture. It was hanging in the wrong place!"

Steve made a face, wondering what that could possibly have to do with his case. Mike was amused by his reaction.

"It had always hung on the wall closest to the door, but now it was on the opposite wall! I had to stop and wonder if I'd just forgotten Glen moving it; it has been two years."

"And you found…" Steve said, trying to get to the point.

"I walked over to the picture and looked around. On the floor, right below it, looked like pieces of Sheetrock. Odd, right? So I took the picture off the wall and found a huge hole!"

"In the wall? Like, say, the size of someone's head?" Steve was happy that he may have found his crime scene.

"Yes. Poor Glen. How could he have hit the wall that hard? Do you think that young man pushed him?" Mildred asked, half worried, half saddened.

"Could be. Did you lock the office again? If that's a crime scene, I don't want anyone walking through it," Steve told her.

"Oh my, yes. I couldn't stand to look at the place anymore."

"Good, good. Keep it locked until one of us gets there. Oh, and you might not want to tell Mrs. Johnson that you found anything, at least not yet."

"Not to worry, Inspector. I'll let the professionals handle that if there is anything to tell."

Steve thanked her for calling and hung up.

"Until one of us gets where?" Mike asked, suspicious.

"Los Angeles. That was Glen Johnson's secretary. She found a hole in a wall of his office that sounds like it could be our crime scene. The medical examiner did say that he'd hit his head on a flat surface, and Paul was there the Friday before he died arguing with him."

"How does this involve us?" Mike asked.

Steve gave him a curious look. "We go down to LA and look at the scene, determine if it is our crime scene or not." He wasn't sure why he was having to tell Mike this.

Mike shook his head. "No, we don't do anything now. The crime happened in LA, so it's now the LAPD's case. If they determine our suspect is also theirs, and they want or need our help, they'll inform us, but until then, it's their case."

Steve couldn't believe he was hearing this. "But Mike…" he tried to protest, but he was cut off.

"No arguing now. You know it's their case. I don't doubt that it's related to us, but until they prove it…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," Steve muttered, dejected.

"You better get them on the phone then and tell them about it. The sooner they start investigating, the sooner we'll know if there's a connection."

Steve was obviously not pleased.

"I know you wanted to be the one to solve Amy's father's murder, but does it really matter who solves it as long as she gets justice?"

Steve simply shook his head. "No, it doesn't," he said, picking up the phone.

"How many other deaths do we still have to look into?" Mike asked.

"Four," Steve told him.

"Okay. I'm going to go down and talk to O'Brien about Curtis Howard while you call LA. I think we'll try to get as many people into the case before we ask for an arrest warrant. Why charge him with one murder when we can get him for six?"

Steve nodded as he reluctantly began giving his case away.


	25. Chapter 25

Their first stop that morning was the University of California - San Francisco to speak with anyone who knew Paul. The first person they sought out was a classmate of Paul's named Victoria Olson. They found her in the midst of teaching a class, so they patiently waited outside the classroom, hoping they wouldn't have to wait for hours. Lucking out, they were soon greeted by several students streaming out of the classroom. Not wanting to fight the tide, they waited until the room was empty before walking in.

Miss Olson was cleaning off her chalkboard when the two came in the room.

"Victoria Olson?"

She turned toward the door. "Yes?"

"I'm Lieutenant Stone and this is Inspector Keller from the San Francisco Police Department," he said, showing the lady his badge.

"Oh, yes. My advisor told me to expect you sometime. What was it again that you wanted to discuss?"

"Paul Carpenter. You knew him?" Steve asked.

"Unfortunately," she said with clear disdain in her voice. "What kind of officers are you?"

"Homicide," Mike told her.

"Homicide." Victoria picked up some books off a table near the blackboard. "Do you mind if we walk and talk? I have office hours in ten minutes."

Both men shook their heads and followed her out the door. As they began to walk down a long corridor, Victoria started speaking again. "I'm actually not shocked. I should be; I'd like to think we would all at least have an initial shock when hearing that someone we know is involved in something that heinous, but…"

"You got a bad vibe from him?" Steve asked.

"Have you met him, Inspector?" she asked Steve.

He nodded. "Oh yeah." He recalled the vibe he got off the man during that brief encounter in Amy's kitchen. "He was definitely a little off."

"Exactly. I'm not going to say that I was ever in fear for my life or anything, but he always just sort of gave me the creeps. He was the kind of guy you didn't want to be alone with."

The trio arrived in front of her office. She quickly unlocked the door and let everyone inside the tiny office. It may have been larger than it looked, but it was filled with wall-to-wall books and other learning materials. Looking down at the floor, Steve was surprised he could see it.

"I'm sorry the place is a mess. I'd offer you a chair, but, well…" She looked behind where Mike and Steve were standing. Under two large piles of books, papers, and folders were two chairs...or at least two sets of chair legs. Both men turned around to look. Steve held back a snicker.

"That alright; we don't want to take up too much of your time anyway. How long did you know Paul?" Mike asked.

She set her latest pile of books on her already-crowded desk. "Well, let's see. We started our Master's program together, and that was fall of 71. I guess almost three years, though he left after the summer of 73 session. I haven't seen him in almost a year."

"Left?" Steve asked.

"Left, dropped out...I really don't know. I always kind of wondered if he didn't get expelled, but I never heard one way or the other."

"Why would he have gotten expelled?" Mike asked.

"Oh, any number of things I'd guess. I know that once, one of the female students in the chemistry class he was teaching complained that he'd 'made inappropriate advances' toward her," Victoria said, like she was quoting a police report.

"Really?" Steve said, with a little surprise in his voice.

"Again, I don't know if it's true or not, but I heard that through the rumor mill. Every now and again a disgruntled student who is upset with their grades or their professor will make up some story to either get out of the class or punish the teacher."

"Do you think that's what this was?" Steve asked.

Victoria shook her head. "Not really. Like I said, he creeped me out. I would have been less surprised if I'd heard he got expelled for stealing though."

"Stealing what?" Mike started to think about the mexasofaline.

"Equipment, drugs...I swear he was."

"What makes you think that?" Mike asked.

"He just seemed to spend a lot of time in the drug storage area. It's not uncommon for any of us in the pharmacy program to get in there for a lab, but he was in there at least three times as often as I was, and we had the same classes. There was no reason to be in there that often."

"Would he have had access to a drug called...mesa...hexa...oh, what was that, Steve?" Mike turned to his partner, hoping for an assist.

Steve pulled out his notebook from his inside jacket pocket and opened it. "Mexasofaline," he told Victoria.

"Oh, sure," she told them. "He had the same card I have, which allows me access to the entire area. All you have to do is tell the person in charge of the room what you are there for and then show them what you took on your way out."

"How could he have taken the mexasofaline then? I mean, would he have actually needed that for a class or something?" Steve asked.

Victoria shook her head. "Doubtful. I haven't used three quarters of the drugs in that room. A drug like that is likely only used by the full time researchers, not students."

"How would he have gotten it out then?" Steve was beginning to wonder about the protocols in place at this school.

"Unlike most of what's in that room, which is in pill or liquid form, mexasofaline is a white powder that looks just like every other white powder in the room. I'm not sure if they're supposed to or not, but no one watches what you do while you're in there. And who knows how long it would be before anyone noticed it was missing. Pills are easy to keep track of since you can count them. I'm assuming you are bringing this drug up because you think Paul used it to kill someone. In that case, it wouldn't take much. You could easily sneak out a teaspoon of it and no one would question. Those containers don't get weighed after each person leaves or anything. The storage room guard would have a record of all the times he went in there though if that would help."

"That would," Mike said. "Where can we find that?"

She looked at the clock on the wall. "Oh, they can wait for help. How many times did I ever show up during a professor's office hours to find them gone? Not like freshmen listen anyway. I'll take you," she said, leading the men back out into the corridor.

Upon arrival, Victoria introduced them to the man in charge of security for the room. Mike asked him for records of everyone that went in and out of that room during Paul's time at the school. He then inquired if Paul would have been able to come back after he'd left the school and still get in the room. Victoria assured him that was not possible; he would have had to surrender his access card the second he was not taking classes. If he had gotten in, he would have had to break in. This prompted Steve to inquire about any break-in attempts over the last three years. The security officer assured him there had been none.

While waiting on the visitor logs, Steve asked Victoria how long of a shelf life mexasofaline had. She wasn't sure, so she went back and looked at the container.

"Four years," she said upon returning. "Why?"

"Well, if he stole some of it when he was still a student here, then it would have been sitting around for awhile. So it's potent for four years?" he asked her.

"It's still potent after that even, you'd just have to use more of it. It's has a decent length of efficacy as far as drugs like it go. It doesn't take much of that stuff to cause any damage though." She paused, then said, "What a terrible way to go. Quick, but terrible."

"How did you learn about the stuff?"

"Before coming here and focusing on research, I was in a pharmacist program, which I remember him telling me he was as well, at USC I think. I took classes that taught me about different classes of drugs and what they are used for...or misused for. I assume he did the same. Even if he didn't take any classes, that information can be found in many books in a medical library, like the one we have here on campus. If he was specifically seeking out a drug to kill someone with, he could have found it in a recent book of pharmaceuticals."

At that moment, the security officer came back with the log book for the room. He gave it to Mike and he and Steve began heading out to look through it. Once in the hallway, Victoria asked them a curious question.

"Have you talked to his girlfriend yet? She might have more insight into him."

Steve and Mike looked at each other, both curious and a bit surprised.

Victoria chuckled. "I know; I had that same look on my face when he told me about her. I never met her, but she must have either been a highly tolerant person...or a complete kook. The way he talked about her though, she was head over heels for him. I shouldn't say this, but I used to wonder if she was even real. Then one day he showed me a picture of the two of them."

"We just were not aware there was a girlfriend in the picture," Mike told her, explaining his and Steve's surprise.

"Maybe she wised up and left him. I hope so, if he really did murder someone."

"What do you know about her?" Steve asked.

"Hmm...let's see. I remember him saying that she'd come up here to San Francisco with him from LA, but she didn't go to school here. She went to...Berkeley? I think it was Berkeley."

Steve didn't like where this was going.

"She was getting into social work I think it was. She should have gotten him some help. I think her name was...uh...Amanda? No...Anna, Ann…"

"Amy?" Steve sighed.

Victoria thought about it for a moment. "Amy...yeah, I think it was. Amy. I think she had a pretty common last name too, which was one reason I thought he made her up."

"Johnson?" Mike asked this time, jumping in to keep Steve from getting emotional.

Victoria nodded. "It was. Amy Johnson."

Steve, who had grabbed the picture of Paul and Amy off his desk before leaving, pulled it out of his jacket and showed it to Victoria. "Is this her?"

She looked at the photograph and nodded. "Yeah, that's her; I'm sure of it. So you do know about her."

Steve put the picture back in his pocket. "Just didn't know she was his girlfriend."

"Maybe they aren't together then. For her sake, I hope so."

Mike thanked Victoria for her help and time. She left the two standing in the hallway. Mike then looked at Steve for any sign that he was losing his head.

"I'm fine! Honest!" he said, knowing full well what Mike was thinking.

"Just put it out of your head. It just gives us a little more evidence about his mental state, that's all."

Steve tried changing the subject. "Are we going to look through those now?" he asked, indicating the logs Mike had in his hand.

Mike nodded. "The guard told me there is a lounge down the hall. Let's grab some coffee and see what we can find."

* * *

After looking through what seemed like a hundred years worth of paper, the names of the people and the drugs they took were all starting to blend together. Steve rubbed his eyes. "Did we overlook him? This is ridiculous," he said to Mike.

"No, no. There's got to be something in here; we're just missing it."

Steve ran his fingers through his hair and let out a sigh. He thought back to the night before, when Amy was asking him about his job. What he was doing now - this was definitely not the exciting part of police work they showed on TV, just like she said about his endless paperwork. He wanted to lay his head down and fall asleep, but then he remembered he was doing this more for her than himself, so he plugged away.

He looked through two more pages before he finally found the name Paul Carpenter. "Oh, I found one!" he told Mike excitedly.

"What's it say?" Mike asked.

"He was in there on February 22 of 73. He took four pills of methocarbamol and five pills of diltiazem. Pills...I guess that wasn't it. Damn."

"That's okay. If there's one, others have to be close. Keep looking."

Both men kept reading. Then Mike found something. "Here's another one. May 16, 1973." He stopped reading, then said, "Never mind. It was all pills again."

Steve shook his head and went back to his reading.

"How about this one?" Mike said moments later. "May 31, 1973. Sixteen milliliters of dextromethorphan."

Steve shook his head. "If it's milliliters, it's liquid. If it were powder, it'd be in milligrams."

"Oh, you college kids," Mike said, ribbing Steve.

"Wait, this looks like it has potential. July 12. He took one hundred milligrams of prednisolone. You suppose that's a white powder?"

"Worth writing down," Mike said. "Let's check for others."

The two checked and double checked for more occurances, but only found the one time when he took a powder. As Mike took the logs back to the security officer, Steve went to ask Victoria if prednisolone was a white powder like mexasofaline.

"We have a winner," he said to Mike, meeting him in the hall outside the drug storage room. "It's a white powder that looks enough like mexasofaline that no one would have questioned a switch."

"It's enough for probable cause at least. I wonder why he took it back then if he didn't know about Duncan's indiscretions until almost a year later," Mike said.

"He probably planned on using it on someone else. One of the others died summer of 73. Maybe this method was originally intended for them but something went wrong."

"I guess we have a busy day of interviewing ahead of us then," Mike said as the two went to leave.


	26. Chapter 26

_**I just want to say a big thanks to those who are still reading/reviewing. Seems like I've lost some people along the way recently (whether it's life or I just made a wrong turn story-wise). I appreciate the few people who are still around. Tough being the new kid with the radical ideas I guess. **_

Instead of going back to their car, Mike and Steve decided to stop by the administration building and see if anyone could tell them why Paul was no longer a student.

"Care to place a bet on the reason?" Steve asked as they walked through campus, more for something to say than to make an actual wager out of the issue.

"Pretty confident you know the reason, huh? Okay, Buddy Boy, what are we playing for?"

"Well...you first," Steve said, not sure of what he wanted.

"I know something. I have tickets to the four games the Giants are playing the Padres starting on the 17th. The tickets just happen to have your name on them." Mike smiled, knowing Steve wasn't the world's biggest baseball fan.

"Oh really? We're going there, huh? Now I'll have to think of something bigger."

Mike laughed. "Go easy on me, kid. So, why do you think he's no longer here?"

"I'm saying he just left. I can't imagine the creep being comfortable with Amy being at Berkeley where he couldn't watch her all the time. He probably dropped out to pursue stalking as a full time job. You?"

"I believe there was something to that student who accused him of inappropriate behavior," Mike said.

"Really?" Steve had his doubts. "I just can't see him hitting on any other woman. He's much too obsessed with Amy to even look at anyone else."

"Oh, I don't know. Years ago there was a man who was killing women who looked like the girl he was in love with but couldn't have. He'd decided that if he couldn't have his true love, he'd try for the next best thing. Sadly, these women were killed when they rejected him."

"How many did he get?" Steve asked, both saddened and horrified.

"Seven by the time he was arrested. Every one of those women could have been each other's twin. I guess when Miss Olson mentioned that, it brought up the memory of that case. I was just getting started on the force and didn't have much involvement other than being on the lookout for him once they got a description, but it stuck with me."

"Does Paul remind you of that guy?" Steve asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Mike nodded. "In a way. Just a different motive. All for the love of someone who doesn't love them back though."

A cold chill went down Steve's spine. The mere thought that there had been someone else, and who knew how many others, like Paul out there worried Steve. He didn't say another word all the way to the administration building.

The pair arrived and ended up in the student records office. There, a nice older lady spent several minutes trying to locate the file on Paul. Steve stood at the reception desk, growing impatient. He passed the time by incessantly tapping a pen on the counter. Mike kept shooting him looks to let the young man know he did not appreciate the repetitive noise, but Steve only stopped for mere seconds before continuing his rhythm practice. Mike was about to go back and help the lady look when she finally came back to her desk.

"Sorry about the delay, gentlemen. I was looking in the wrong disciplinary section. We don't often have this kind of expulsion, so I neglected to look there at first," she said, setting the file down and opening it.

Steve quietly said _damn_ to himself. Expulsion meant he for sure had lost the bet. "What kind of expulsion?"

"Sexual misconduct."

"Oh. Does it say what he did to get expelled?" Mike asked.

The secretary looked through the file. "Says here that he propositioned one of his students several times. She threatened to report him, and he stopped for awhile, but then did it one more time. This time he tried to beat her up. He was then expelled...though I don't see any record of charges being filed. Maybe they just aren't in here."

"When was this?" Mike asked.

"He was expelled August, 1973."

"Is the student he attacked still here?"

The secretary looked at her name in Paul's file, then went to find hers. This time, the search took much less time. "No, it looks like she transferred to Kansas State that fall. Can't say I blame her."

"Is there a picture of her in her file?" Steve inquired, wondering if Mike's theory held any weight.

The secretary nodded and handed Steve a sheet of paper. He looked at it, then showed Mike.

"Looks like a decent ringer to me," he said.

Mike looked at the picture. "She does resemble Amy, doesn't she?"

Steve nodded and handed the picture back to the secretary. Both men thanked her and left the office. On the way out, Steve said, "Guess I'll be going to a baseball game."

"Oh no, not _A_ baseball game...four baseball games," Mike corrected him. Steve shook his head and Mike laughed.

* * *

Since they were close by, their next stop was Mitzi Granger's place. On the way, Steve filled Mike in on what Inspector Carlisle had found on the Duncan's and that they were going to see his girlfriend in hopes that she'd have some information that would help them with a motive for Carl's murder.

Upon arriving at 2420 Judah Street, the two detectives got out of the car and rang the bell for apartment four. A tired-sounding lady answered. Mike told her who they were and that they would like to talk with her. She groaned and released the lock on the front gate.

"Did she just groan?" Steve asked Mike.

"Guess she's not our biggest fan."

The two walked through the gate and to the door marked '4'. Steve knocked and shortly after, a short blonde opened the door. Short and blonde were the only two things that matched the description Steve had read of Mitzi in Jasmine's journal. The Mitzi who stood before him today had on no makeup, appeared to not have brushed her hair in quite some time, and was wrapped up in a ratty blue blanket.

"I thought I'd told you guys everything I knew. Why are you bothering me again?" she said, exhaustion in her voice.

"Actually, we're not from fraud; we're from homicide," Steve told her.

"Oh," Mitzi said, backing up and letting them in her apartment.

Steve looked around at her place as he walked in. It was unkempt and dark. Mitzi hadn't opened any blinds to let light in and hadn't bothered to even put trash in the wastebasket. This, along with her appearance, told Steve she was depressed.

She told them to sit down, but only after throwing candy wrappers off the couch and onto the floor. Both men sat down, hoping they weren't sitting on something since it was too dark to really tell.

"Why would homicide want to talk to me?" she asked, sitting herself on a rickety rocking chair. "Is this related to the fraud investigation?"

"Not completely," Steve told her. "It is about Carl though."

She gave Steve a curious look. "Are you saying Carl was murdered? I thought he died of a heart attack."

"Yes, he was murdered," Mike said.

She tightened the blanket around her. "I suppose his wife thinks I did it or something. I had a feeling she knew."

"Knew what?" Steve asked, although he already knew what.

"About the affair. You knew too, or you wouldn't be here."

"True," Steve said. "But actually she never brought up your name. She thought their nanny did it at first, but we know neither one of you had anything to do with it."

"Amy?" Mitzi asked, disbelief in her voice. She then went from looking at Steve to looking at the wall. "Actually, she probably had more reason than anyone to want him gone, considering what he was doing to her."

"What was that?" Steve asked, again already knowing the answer.

"He was stringing her along. I shouldn't speak ill of the dead...and I shouldn't admit how stupid I am...but the man was a complete asshole. He had her thinking he was helping her get a job, but in reality he was giving her leads to me. Truth is, if some other girl had come along and given him a good roll in the hay, he would have handed them to her, leaving both Amy and me in the dust. Whoever gave him the biggest pleasure got the biggest rewards. Worst part is, I knew it and didn't care. My mother always told me to do whatever it took to get to the top. She'd be proud of me I'm sure." She shook her head. "I know I'm not. I just...this was the one thing I thought I was good at before I went to school, but then I got to Berkeley and suddenly I was failing and having people out in the real world tell me I wasn't cut out for working with teenagers. I even had one person tell me I should seriously consider changing majors before it was too late. It crushed me, but the kids liked me and kept me going back every day. Then I'd watch someone like Amy, who just seems to have a knack for it, and I got scared. I figured I'd never get anywhere without cheating a little. The Amy's of the world would always be there to show me up. So when Carl started coming on to me, promising to help me get a good job...telling me I was the best student he'd ever seen...I fell for it. I really thought he loved me...and I loved him right until Inspector Carlisle came and started asking me about all the things Carl was doing. I don't know why it took a police investigation to knock sense into me. How pathetic is that?"

"Hey, we've all been distracted by charismatic people selling empty promises at one time or another," Steve told her. He felt very sorry for this girl.

Mike, who'd been thinking about how this girl didn't look much older than his Jeannie, began to realize that Jeannie could easily become Mitzi. He knew he'd taught his little girl well in matters such as these - she was a cop's daughter after all - but like Steve said, everyone is susceptible to snake oil salesmen sometimes. As a protective, loving father, it made him both mad that someone like Carl Duncan was allowed to prey on innocent, wide-eyed coeds, and sad that someone so young, with their whole life ahead of them, was feeling like it was over.

"Be proud that you did the right thing in telling Inspector Carlisle all you did. We all make mistakes, but the true test is what you do the next time it comes around. Plus, look how much wiser you are about people now! You'll never be fooled by another Carl Duncan, which I know will help in your career. You'll be able to pass on this knowledge to the kids you work with," Mike told Mitzi, trying to make her feel a little better about herself.

"I suppose," she finally said. "I've worked with enough teenagers to know just about every mistake a kid can make. I just always thought I was smarter than that."

"You're human. Those kids you work with will like the fact that you're not some perfect person trying to tell them what to do with their life. I know it's been awhile since Lieutenant Stone was a teenager," Steve said, patting his partner on the back.

Mike shot him a look.

"But I remember when some righteous older person would try to get me to act the way they wanted me too instead of accepting that we all make mistakes and need to learn from them. I liked the teachers who could admit to not being perfect themselves, you know?" He smiled at Mike.

Mitzi finally turned back to the two and smiled a very slight smile. "I never thought about it that way. So, you don't think Amy killed him? I really wouldn't blame her if she had. Part of me felt bad, and really wanted to tell her what was going on, but, well..." She trailed off, knowing the her choice was obvious. "I guess she already knew."

"No, she actually didn't. She also has an alibi," Steve told her. An alibi wasn't what ruled her out, but Mitzi didn't need to know that. "We're actually looking at other suspects."

"How can I help?" she asked.

"Did you ever see anyone hanging around Carl a lot, or maybe hanging back and watching him?" Steve asked her.

"You mean like following him?"

"Or watching him from a distance, maybe while you two were together."

She rocked back and forth and thought for awhile. "Any particular time this would have happened, or place?"

Steve shrugged. "I was thinking on campus, maybe in the last month? I can't be certain of that though."

"Well, there was this one time, but it was at a restaurant down by Lake Merced."

"Tell me about it," Steve said, pulling his notepad out of his jacket.

"We generally didn't go out on 'dates' anywhere near Berkeley or his house because he was afraid someone he knew would see us and that would have cost him his career. That should have been my first clue that it wasn't exactly true love, huh?"

Steve agreed, but just shrugged again. Getting into a philosophical debate about love wouldn't get this investigation moving.

"So we'd end up at the south end of town, or up in Marin County. This day, we were down at this little café close to the lake. We were seated at a little table for two that was off in the corner of the room. Carl was facing the wall, but I was facing the rest of the room. There was a guy sitting across the room that seemed to keep staring at us. He was sitting by himself, so I just thought he was people watching to pass the time. But the more I'd look over at him, the more he seemed to be staring at us. It made me very uncomfortable. After we ate, we took a walk around the lake. I had this weird feeling that we were being followed, and I swear I saw that same guy again."

"Please don't think I'm trying to pry or anything, but at the time, were you two...being romantic? Trust me, it's an important part of the investigation," Steve said, feeling like he was being a creep.

At first, Mitzi was quiet, not wanting to say, but then she remembered what Mike said about feeling proud for telling the truth. "Yeah, I mean, as much as anyone else does in public I guess." She blushed out of embarrassment.

"Would you recognize the guy if you saw him again?" Steve asked.

"I might; it wasn't all that long ago."

"When was it?" Mike asked as Steve got out the picture.

"Um...about a week or so before Carl died." She took the picture from Steve and after a second, nodded. "Yeah, that looks like him. He had on a baseball cap, but I can still tell this is him. Wait, he knows Amy?"

Steve nodded and stood up. Mike followed suit.

Mitzi also stood up. "Did I help any?" she asked.

Steve smiled. "Yeah, you were a big help. Thank you."

The three walked to the door and Mike and Steve were about to leave when Mike turned back to Mitzi. "I hope you're going to stay in school even after everything that has happened. The world needs individuals who care about helping young people, and I think you're the perfect candidate."

She smiled. "Really? Thanks; that means a lot. I haven't decided yet...last time I was on campus, people in the department kept giving me looks. Hell, I probably would give someone like me looks too."

"Don't let them get to you. You're not there to please them; you're there to help kids. Remember that," Mike said, patting her on the shoulder.

"I will, Lieutenant." She stood at the door and the guys walked out of her apartment and toward the front gate. "Oh, Inspector Keller?" she said.

Steve turned around. "Yeah?"

"You know Amy? I mean, do you talk to her?"

Steve just sort of nodded.

"Could you tell her I'm sorry?" Mitzi looked like she was about to cry.

"Actually, I'll do you one better. After this investigation is over, I'll give her your address and send her over here. I know she'd love to help you through school if you want the help."

"After all I did to her?"

"Yeah," he smiled. "After I tell her everything, she won't blame you; I know she won't." Steve felt like he was taking a big leap with that statement - he assumed she wouldn't, but in truth, he didn't know her well enough to swear on it. He just didn't feel she was the vengeful type.

"I'd love her help. Like I said, she always made it look easy."

Back at the car, Steve looked at Mike and said, "Nice pep talk there, Dad."

"She just seemed so sad and regretful. Plus, I kept thinking about how I'd feel if it were Jeannie."

"Jeannie wouldn't fall for that garbage," Steve told him, getting in the driver's seat.

Mike shut the passenger door. "I would hope not. Still, as a father, you worry about predators like Carl Duncan being out there. You know you taught your kids well, but you still worry."

Steve pulled the car away from the curb and headed back east. "I'd hate to see what you'd do to a guy like Carl Duncan if he did anything to Jeannie." Steve made a face, imagining the beatdown. "Of course, he wouldn't be safe around me either."

"I think I'll call her tonight. You know, just to check up on her."

Steve smiled, knowing that Jeannie would wonder why her father was all concerned and reminding her to stay away from creeps, but glad that he cared all the same.

"You know who should be careful though?" Mike said.

"Who?"

"You, if you make another crack about my age again."

Both men laughed as Steve drove on.


	27. Chapter 27

_**This was originally part of the last chapter, which is why this is such a quick update. I wish I wrote that fast! :) Also, thanks to those who say Mike and Steve have been "in character." That's one thing I always worry about, so it's nice to know I seem to be on the right track there. Hope I can stay that way!**_

Before heading to their next stop, Berkeley to talk with Brenda Mason's sister, Steve asked if they could make a slight detour. Mike, sensing that Steve was a bit worried about Amy, agreed.

They first headed to Steve's, where he quietly opened the front door and found her asleep on the couch. Not wanting to wake her, he grabbed her keys out of her purse as silently as possible and snuck out. He then drove to her apartment to grab her some clothes. Mike insisted on going up to her apartment with Steve. Once they got to her door, Mike started looking around the door and the hall.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked as he unlocked the door.

"Looking to see if our suspect did indeed make a late-night call last night."

"Good idea. I bet he was pretty mad if he did and found her not here," Steve said, looking at the doorknob and door jam for any sign of forced entry.

"I'd say you were right, Buddy Boy," Mike said, pointing to the bottom of the door.

Steve looked down and saw a roughly six inch diameter hole at foot level. "Great. Well, at least he probably didn't get it that way, and it's too far down to reach through and unlock the door...though I think we better look around first," he said, his hand now on his gun.

He walked around the apartment, ready to pull the gun out of its holster if needed, but neither he nor Mike found any evidence that anyone had been in there.

Steve picked up the phone off Amy's bedroom floor and set it back on the nightstand. "Remind me to thank the building manager for installing good door locks, though he may want to invest in more solid doors." Steve opened Amy's closet and began looking around for a suitcase.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Paul broke his foot," Mike commented.

Steve found a suitcase and pulled it out, setting it on the bed and opening it. He then went back to the closet. He stared at it for awhile.

Mike noticed. "They're not going to pack themselves, you know," he teased.

"What do I take? You know how women are about their clothes - if I take the wrong thing, she'll be disappointed or annoyed."

"Oh, she wouldn't say that to you," Mike scoffed.

"Maybe not, but …"

"Oh, you youngsters, worrying so much about disappointing the other one about every little thing."

Steve groaned. "You're not going to give me another 'Take it from an old married man' speech, are you?"

"You could learn a lot from me, you know! Especially if this is getting pretty serious, which I think it is."

"Oh, you do, huh?"

"Yes I do!" Mike looked at Steve, who was looking at him like a worried child who'd just disappointed his father. "And I think it's great," he added.

Steve then looked at Mike as if he didn't believe him.

"No, really. She's a nice girl, and she needs someone like you in her life," Mike told him, grabbing tops and dresses out of Amy's closet and laying them on the bed. "Start folding."

Steve started folding what Mike was laying on the bed. "Someone like me? What do you mean by that?"

"Someone caring. Someone who is concerned for her wellbeing. Someone who will be there when she needs a shoulder to cry on. On the other hand, you could use someone like her in your life as well."

"I may regret asking this, but how so?"

"She's grounded." Mike grinned at Steve as he placed some slacks and jeans on the bed.

"I see. I bet I can fix that," Steve said playfully.

"You leave that girl alone," Mike warned in a joking manner. "Finish folding these things up, then be sure to grab undergarments and stuff from the bathroom. I'm going to see if any of the neighbors heard anything last night or if they've seen Paul around since."

Steve looked at the clothes on the bed. "You're sure this is what I should take?"

Mike just looked at him as if to say, _You're doubting me_?

Steve shook his head and went back to his folding. After Mike left, he looked over at Amy's dresser. "Undergarments?"

Mike went up and down the hall knocking on doors. He was surprised to see many people home on a Tuesday morning. One neighbor did hear a lot of banging around midnight, but was half asleep and did not bother to get up and investigate. Another neighbor heard a man in the hallway shouting and banging around the same time and was annoyed by it, so he went out to the hallway and yelled at the man to go away. Mike asked the neighbor to describe the man he chased away. The man's description fit Paul to a T, including the bouquet of flowers and bottle of wine he had. None of the people Mike interviewed had seen Paul today, so Mike gave them his card and asked if they did see him again to call.

After talking to neighbors for twenty minutes, including telling the manager that Amy's apartment needed a new front door right away, Mike went back and found Steve in her bedroom closing the suitcase. "Ready?"

"I feel like I violated her privacy or something, going through her medicine cabinet and drawers like that," he told Mike.

"You'll get over that one sooner or later, when her medicine cabinet becomes your medicine cabinet."

"Did anyone see anything?" Steve asked, following Mike out of the room and quickly changing the subject.

"The guy next door did. Chased him off for making a racket in the hall. I gave everyone I talked to my card and told them to call if they saw him anywhere around here."

"I hope he has the guts to show his face around here again so we can nail him for good," Steve muttered as he locked the front door.

* * *

_She opened her eyes, thinking she heard a strange noise. She listened for a moment, but heard nothing but a clock ticking and the refrigerator whirring, so she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep._

_Then she heard it again. It sounded like something had fallen over. She sat up and looked around the living room. He doesn't have a cat, does he? she wondered._

_She got up off the couch and started looking around. Not sure where the noise had come from, she checked the kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. She even checked the closets in case something had fallen off a shelf. Nothing seemed out of place. She went back into the bedroom, thinking she'd give napping on the bed another try. She noticed the window was open._

"_Did Steve open that window?" she asked no one. She didn't remember him doing that, but then maybe he did before she woke up. It made her uneasy, so she closed and locked it. Then she felt one hand on her shoulder and another over her mouth._

"_Found you," a voice whispered in her ear._

_She tried to scream, but she suddenly had no voice. She tried to thrash about and get loose, but her muscles didn't seem to work. _

_He turned her around and threw her up against the wall. She hit it with a thud, hitting it with her head more than anything. "Ugh," she groaned as the pain from the impact spread throughout her head. The pain delayed her reaction time and caused her to not try and run off. He put one hand on each side of her on the wall. _

"_Looks like you're trapped," he told her._

"_How did you find me?" she asked in barely a whisper._

"_Where else would you have gone? You ask enough people if they know someone you're looking for, and you're bound to find someone who knows...especially when you're looking for a cop. People hate cops." He laughed. "You actually thought you were safe with one."_

"_Please, just go away," she begged him. "You can't make me love you."_

"_Yes I can. If I'm the only one around, you'll have to love me." He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close to him. "You think after I'm done with you, Pretty Boy will want you anyway? He doesn't want you now and you're still 'pure.' I take that away, you can forget all about him."_

"_He never said that," she said, defending Steve._

"_Why would he? He wants you to think he's a good guy! That's his game. It's the same game they all play...all except me of course." _

_She started hitting him and trying to push him away, but he was stronger and barely budged. He put his lips against hers but found it difficult to get an actual lock on her lips because she kept shaking her head. He eventually grabbed her head and held it still while he tried once more._

_She put her hands around his throat and squeezed. She didn't care if she killed him. Losing air, he let go, so she did the same. As he coughed and gasped for air, she tried to run off, but he grabbed the skirt of her nightgown. This caused her to fall flat on the floor. As she instinctively put out her arms to brace for the fall, she fell on her left wrist wrong. She heard a snap, then screamed out in pain._

_He continued to cough, but while regaining his composure, he walked over to where she was lying and turned her onto her back. _

"_You like it rough, huh?" he growled, undoing his belt._

_She tried to wiggle away, but he grabbed her ankle and held on so tight that she began losing feeling in her foot. _

_He laughed and laid his body on top of hers. _

_She cried, feeling like his weight was not only crushing her body, but her soul as well. "Just let me go."_

"_So I leave for one minute, and this is what I come back to?" a voice above her said._

"_Help me!" she pleaded with the source of the voice. _

"_Doesn't look like you need __**my**_ _help. You seem content enough."_

_She kept reaching for him, but he kicked her away. "You disgust me," was all he said before leaving her there._

"Don't leave me..." she moaned in her sleep.

"Amy, Honey, wake up," Steve said.

"You can't just leave me here! I don't love him! Get him away from me!"

"Amy...AMY! Wake up!"

She jerked, threw her eyes open, and saw Steve had a hold of her arms. Her heart was pounding and she couldn't seem to catch her breath. She looked at Steve with fear in her eyes.

"You...you left me. You said I disgusted you."

"What?"

"He was attacking me." She turned her head and looked over toward the bedroom. "Right over there," she explained, pointing. "He was trying to rape me again and you acted like I was cheating on you or something. He did say you wouldn't want me after he was done with me…"

"Oh, just stop right there and look at me."

Amy turned her head back toward Steve.

"It was a dream. Just a dream. Not real. He's not here. If I had walked in and found that scene, I sure as hell wouldn't have thought _that_! I would have killed the guy instead."

She tried to sit up. Her left wrist ached, but she realized it wasn't broken. She let her head fall back on the couch and let out a sigh. "This was the wrist he sprained. It still hurts every now and then. I guess the pain got to my subconscious." She turned back toward the bedroom. "He came in through the bedroom window. Said someone told him where I was. Can he get in the window?" she asked, panicking.

"Not without a ladder."

She didn't look convinced, so he pulled her up and took her into the bedroom. There, he walked her to the window and locked it in front of her.

"Now if he tries, he'll have to break the glass." He drew her into a hug. "It was just a dream. He's not going to find you here, and I'm not going to react that way whether he's here or not."

"Do you know where he is?" she asked.

"Well, technically, no. I know he's not at your place, because Mike and I were just there. He had been there though."

She pulled away and looked at him. "When?"

"Last night. Your neighbor chased him away around midnight. It was a good thing you left. It didn't look like he was too happy you weren't home."

"How so?"

"He kicked a hole in your front door."

Her eyes got big. "Did he get in?" she asked fearfully.

Steve shook his head. "Mike told your manager that you needed a new door right away though. You might want to tell Karen not to go home for awhile."

"That would be fine if I knew where she was. He probably won't go back there anyway. He knows I left for good, and I'm sure he knows I'm with you. Oh God, it's just a matter of time…"

"Before we arrest him," Steve said, finishing her sentence with his own thought. "We are getting very close. Once we fill in a few more holes, we'll get an arrest warrant and everything will be fine."

"If you say it will be fine, I'll try my hardest to believe it."

Steve laughed. "That's a big step for you." He sat her down on the bed and then sat beside her. "Hey, I'm sorry about this morning. I suppose my leaving like that didn't help your dream much. I didn't mean to scare you. Hell, I ended up scaring _myself_. I told Mike he should take me off the case."

"Because of me?" Amy asked sadly.

"More how I react concerning you. I just...I worry about you a lot, so when something hurts you, it makes me mad. I'm working on it."

"So Mike's letting you stay on the case?"

"Yeah. It'll be over soon, and then I can stop worrying about who's stalking you and murdering people in some twisted show of affection."

"I hope you'll still worry about me. I mean, I hope you still want to even though you don't need me anymore."

"Not need you?" He leaned over and kissed her. "You can't get rid of me that easily," he said through the kiss.

"I'm not trying...though I suppose it doesn't look that way."

Steve sat back. "No, it doesn't, because I don't listen to what your fears are telling you. You shouldn't either. Oh, I brought you some clothes. The suitcase and toiletry bag are in the living room." He stood up. "And if it's not what you want...blame Mike; he picked everything out."

"Why him?"

"Well...you know how many things you have in that closet of yours? I just knew I'd grab the wrong stuff."

"Whatever you brought is fine; I don't own anything I won't wear. Tell Mike I appreciate his assist. Is he outside?"

Steve nodded and walked toward the bedroom door. "He's probably wondering where I am."

"You better get back to work then."

"Are you going to be okay?" Steve asked, concerned that she would sit and dwell on the nightmare all day.

"Yeah. Like you said, it was just a dream. I'm back to reality now."

"Okay. Why don't you get cleaned up and eat something. That'll make you feel better. Anything in my kitchen is yours. I hope I brought everything you'll need; I grabbed all the makeup and stuff you had in your bathroom."

"Thanks. I'll be fine. Go fill in your holes and end this for me. If I'm going to be living here, I'd rather not do it because I'm hiding."

"If I would have known that, I would have brought your whole closet. Or maybe none of it." He winked at her before walking out the door.

"Oh, get out!" she said, playfully throwing a pillow at him as he left. _Bad-dream-Paul is wrong_, she thought, smiling. If she wasn't sure of anything else, she knew Steve could always make her feel better.

He popped his head back in the bedroom. "Do you like baseball?" he asked.

She wasn't sure where this was coming from. "As much as the next girl, I guess. Why?"

"Oh, I made a bet with Mike and I lost, so now I have to go with him to four Giants games. If I have to go, you're coming with me so I have someone prettier to look at than a bunch of baseball players."

"That sounds like fun actually. I always had a good time when I'd go with my dad to Dodgers games."

Steve groaned. "I am not telling Mike you said that! See you tonight."

Once she heard the front door close, she fell back on the bed. The place was suddenly eerily quiet. She grabbed another pillow and hugged it, knowing she was in for a long, tiring day of listening for strange noises.


	28. Chapter 28

"Maid or butler?" Steve asked as he and Mike stood in front of an elaborate mansion door.

"What?" Mike asked.

"Who's going to answer the door - the maid or the butler? I need to redeem myself after the last wager."

"You just can't stand it that you lost, huh? Alright then, maid."

"Butler. Huge place like this has both, and the butler is always the one who answers the door."

"Spend a lot of time in mansions, do you?" Mike teased.

The front door opened. "Forgive me for the delay, gentlemen. I was attending to Mrs. Mason's guests," an older black lady in a gray maid's uniform said. "What can I help you with?"

Mike showed her his badge and introduced himself and Steve.

"We're here to speak with Cynthia Mason," Steve told her.

"I got it, Bernice," a small, very skinny blonde said as she came down the staircase behind them.

Bernice excused herself and Cynthia came outside. "I hope you guys don't mind talking out here. _Mumsy_ is having tea. Plus, I really don't want her to know I'm talking to you," Cynthia explained.

"Why is that?" Mike asked.

"She would just prefer Brenda and her 'mistakes' stay dead and buried."

"That seems harsh for a mother to say," Steve said. "No son or daughter is perfect."

"They should be when you have a reputation to uphold though. Money is supposed to buy that perfection. Instead, what it buys is a lifetime of not being good enough for the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally. It buys people who are paid to pretend to love you. It buys you a future of wanting to kill yourself because you just don't care anymore," Cynthia said, squinting at Mike and Steve because of the brightness, though it was more overcast than sunny. She stood with her arms folded over her chest, rubbing her arms like she was cold.

"Did Brenda feel that way?" Steve inquired.

"I suppose. There are many ways to feel that. Her way of coping was to blow through Mommy and Daddy's money as fast as she could. She lived that fast as well."

"How so?" Mike asked.

"She partied like there was no tomorrow. She'd screw any guy who was decent looking. She snorted excitement up her nose every day. I think she just wanted to get a reaction out of them. Make them notice that she existed. They'd just throw more money at her. No one was surprised when she OD'd...except me."

"Oh?" Mike's curiosity was piqued.

"She wasn't like that, you know, deep down. She was a good person with a good heart. No one was interested in that side though. No one noticed her until she became a drugged-up whore, and if they did, it was only because her last name was Mason. By the time anyone seemed to care about the real her, she was so far gone. But she wasn't _that_ far. There was no way...just...no."

The girl looked like she was on the verge of tears. Steve had seen that look so often lately that he felt like an expert on it. "Don't think I'm sounding like I don't believe you, but what makes you feel that way when everyone else doesn't?"

"Because she was trying to get better. I saw it. She was trying to stop drinking, stop doing the drugs, stop the one night stands...she wasn't very good at it, but she was trying. She told me it was for me. For some reason she got real scared that I was going to go down that same path. I mean, we did have the same shitty parents and all. I think she would have made it too, if it hadn't been for that guy she met."

Steve and Mike looked at each other. "Guy?" they said, almost in unison.

"I don't think he was really a boyfriend in the traditional sense...but then she really never had a boyfriend in the traditional sense." She drifted off in thought, but quickly came back. "Anyway, I think he was more of an enabler than anything. I don't know where she met this guy, but she swore he was trying to help her. Sure, because bringing drugs to an addict is helpful."

"You saw this guy supply her with drugs?" Mike asked.

"One night, probably about a week before she died, I went to her apartment because I'd just had another fight with my mother and had to get out of the house. I'd been there all of five minutes and this guy walks in."

"What did he look like?" Steve asked.

"Scrawny bastard. _I_ could have probably kicked his ass. Looked like the nerd type, but without the horn-rimmed glasses. Actually, he kind of looked like a cross between a nerd and and one of those perverts who wears a raincoat and asks if you want to buy a Rolex."

Steve snickered. If Cynthia was describing Paul, he couldn't have agreed with her more.

"No, really. Weird dude. Gave me the heebie-jeebies. When he comes in, he's got his hands stuffed into his pockets and won't take them out. Brenda pulls him into the kitchen, and they're all hush hush in there. I'm a snoop, so I go see what they're doing. He pulls out this bag of white stuff and hands it to her. In my infinite wisdom, I burst in there and start yelling at her for using and at him for supplying. She claims it's powdered sugar, like I'm an idiot. I took it from her and ran out."

"You don't happen to still have the stuff, do you?" Steve asked.

Mike gave him a curious look, not certain why he'd ask that question.

"I'm just thinking if she still had it, we could have it tested for something other than…"

"Cocaine," Cynthia told him.

"Like, maybe she got a batch that had been tainted on purpose, possibly by this guy...or someone with access to an entire room of pharmaceuticals..."

Mike gave him a look like this idea was nice, but close to impossible.

"Actually, I do. Strange, I know. But I hid it in my closet and frankly I forgot about it until now. I'll go get it if you want," Cynthia told them.

"I'll get it if you'll just show me where it is," Steve said.

Cynthia nodded and led them into the house. As they walked up the stairs, Steve asked her if she'd recognize the guy if she saw him.

"Oh, definitely. Never forget that face. You have him in one of those mugshot books or something?"

He pulled out the picture of Paul and showed it to Cynthia.

"That's him alright," she said as she led the men into her bedroom and over to a large walk-in closet. She got onto the floor and started digging through a pile of shoes and shoe boxes. She found the one she was looking for and handed it to Mike. "It's in here under a bunch of photos. You can take the whole box if you want."

"We'll get the photos back to you soon," Steve told her.

"Eh, what's the hurry? They're pictures I took from Brenda's apartment; I doubt they mean anything to me anyway."

"Thanks for talking to us," Steve said as they walked down the stairs to leave. "I know it can't be easy, even after two years."

"If you prove me right, it's worth it. I just could never believe she gave up."

The two men walked out the front door, but Steve turned back to Cynthia. "What do you do to cope?"

Cynthia let out a small chuckle. "I hide in my room and don't eat. Shocking, right?" she said, looking down at her skinny frame.

"Well, maybe we'll give you a reason to start."

Cynthia smiled shyly and closed the door. Steve walked on to the car, where Mike was already standing.

"Am I missing something here? What are we going to do with cocaine that Brenda didn't even use?" Mike asked Steve.

"In her file, there is a list of all the evidence that was found around her body. One piece of evidence was a bag of cocaine that was on the coffee table. I checked, and that bag is still in evidence. No one did anything with it other than store it away once this case was declared an overdose. I'm thinking, if this bag, which she got from Paul, matches the stuff they found by her body, _and_ we can get prints off either bag, we've got definitive proof he killed her. Plus, I bet the stuff is tainted. Not like he didn't have free access to poisons two years ago. He hadn't left UCSF yet."

"Smart thinking...although you really shouldn't bet anymore today. You're already buying the hot dogs at the games thanks to that maid or butler bet." Mike laughed as he got in the car.

* * *

After dropping off the cocaine sample at the lab for testing and comparison to the bag in evidence, Mike and Steve headed to Cosmo, the bar on California Street where Shannon Whitney died five months prior. They were meeting her sister Lynda and best friend Joanne Kordel there to discuss the night of the party.

As they walked in, they were greeted with an upscale-looking establishment filled with professional-looking people on their lunch breaks.

"I pictured something a little less classy to be honest," Steve said.

"Why?" Mike asked.

"I don't know; this place just doesn't say drunken college party to me. At least none I went to."

The two were soon approached by a girl who reminded Steve of Amy, only less attractive, wearing way more makeup, and with shorter hair. "You must be Inspector Keller," she said to Steve in a less-than-subtle flirtatious manner.

Mike wanted to burst out laughing, but held it inside.

"Um, yeah, I am. This is my partner, Lieutenant Stone. And you are…?"

"Joanne Kordel. It's so nice to meet you," she said, staring right into his eyes. "Follow me."

As she walked ahead, Steve whispered to Mike, "Don't you even start."

"Who said anything?" Mike said, still trying to hold in his laughter.

They sat down at a high, round table for four that was by a window. Steve found himself sitting across from whom he presumed was Lynda Whitney. The lady was looking out the window and didn't even acknowledge that anyone had sat at the table with her.

Joanne naturally sat right next to Steve; she even moved the chair closer to him. She reached over and patted Lynda on the shoulder. "Sweetie, the detectives are here."

Lynda turned around. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was red, another look Steve was familiar with. "Oh, sorry. I didn't hear you come in," she said quietly.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked, concerned with Lynda's appearance.

"Oh, she's fine!" Joanne squealed. "She's just the emotional type."

All three looked at Joanne, disbelieving she'd said what she did. She seemed unfazed.

"I bet it's hard coming back here, considering," Steve said to Lynda.

"You'd think after five months, it would be okay now, but it's not."

"We could have met somewhere else," Mike said.

"No, it's fine, really. Some days are just harder than others, no matter where I am," Lynda said.

"Were you and your sister close?" Mike asked her.

Lynda nodded. "We were. Actually, my whole family was close. We all miss her a lot."

"So," Joanne started, looking only at Steve, "you think her death wasn't an accident?"

"We recently got some information that led us to believe it might not be," Steve said, feeling uncomfortable having this woman staring at him. "You were both here that night?" He tried to look at Lynda and ignore Joanne.

Lynda nodded.

"Did you see anyone suspicious paying extra attention to Shannon, or maybe someone you didn't know talking to her that night?"

Lynda seemed to be staring off into space.

"There was a guy I saw trying to talk to her, but she blew him off. Totally out of her league. Persistent guy though," Joanne said.

"What did he look like?" Steve asked.

"Nothing like you, handsome," Joanne cooed.

Mike jumped in and attempted to save Steve. He could tell his partner was growing more uncomfortable with the attention, something he never thought he'd see.

"What color was his hair, how tall was he, things like that," Mike prompted.

"Well, it was dark in here...but I think his hair was kind of dark. More dark than blond? I don't know; I didn't pay much attention to him because I knew he wouldn't get anywhere with her. I just remember him coming back again and again," Joanne said.

"If we're talking about the same guy, he was about five-nine or ten maybe, sandy blond hair. Not light, but not dark. Before he approached her at the bar, he sat back there," Lynda said, pointing to the opposite side of the bar, "and stared at her. He watched her for a good hour. I thought it was sort of creepy, but then Shannon was a beautiful girl. Guys stared at her all the time."

"This guy have something to do with her fall?" Joanne asked.

"I did see them arguing outside later that night, around midnight, maybe later," Lynda said.

"Do you know what they were arguing about?" Mike asked.

Lynda thought for a moment.

"She was probably telling him to leave her alone," Joanne said.

Lynda shook her head. "No, it was something about her internship. He was accusing her of stealing it from someone else. He kept telling Shannon that she didn't deserve it; this other girl did. He was really mad about it, too. Eventually Shannon told him to go to hell or something and walked off. Next time I saw her, she was…" She gestured like she was falling down a flight of stairs.

"Did you hear the name of the girl they were arguing about?" Steve asked.

"I'm pretty sure it was Amy Johnson. No idea why I remember that; I never met her, but I know she was up for the same internship. Shannon had talked about her. I don't know who this guy was though; her boyfriend or something I guess. I just know he was angry."

"Who found Shannon?" Mike asked.

"I did," Joanne said, almost excitedly.

Lynda rolled her eyes. "I was the first _sober_ person to find her. You thought she was sleeping," she said to Joanne in a nasty tone.

"Did you happen to see this guy around then, like perhaps sticking around to make sure she was dead?" Steve asked.

Lynda shook her head.

Joanne also shook hers. "I was perhaps a little inebriated." She tried to laugh it off.

Steve took out the picture of Paul and showed it to the two ladies.

"That's the guy," Lynda said. "You know, now that you bring up murder, it doesn't surprise me. That anger...that's what's stuck with me all these months. The other stuff comes and goes, but that anger in his eyes…" She shook her head, trying to get the vision out. "What could she have done to make that man so angry?"

"Shut him down, denied him, told him she'd rather die than date him…"

Lynda shot Joanne the dirtiest look Steve or Mike had ever seen. Joanne just shrugged.

The mood was growing uncomfortable, so Mike handed Lynda his card, telling her that they would probably be in touch when they got any definitive answers for her. She thanked them both for looking into it. Joanne made one more attempt to get Steve's attention, but he was so annoyed by her that he just walked away.

"Some people," Steve muttered once he got outside.

"And I was going to book you a chapel," Mike teased.

"Oh, please. With friends like her, who needs enemies? Trying to find her friend's killer, and she's trying to pick up a date."

Mike laughed. "There was a time when you would have been more receptive to her advances. Maybe I should book that chapel after all."

Steve snickered at Mike's second sentence, then thought about his first. "Wait a minute. You don't think I'm that shallow, do you?"

"You and a pretty girl…"

"A little intelligent conversation goes a long way, Mike." Steve wandered over to the stairs next to the bar. He stood at the top and looked down. "What a terrible way to go." He then looked up at the building, the building next to it, and then turned around and looked at the bank across the street.

"What are you thinking?" Mike asked him.

"Security cameras. No one bothered to check if there were any in the area that might have caught this area right here since it wasn't a homicide. There's got to be at least one that caught something. Banks have cameras everywhere," he said, pointing across the street. "Maybe one caught even a glimpse of Paul."

Mike agreed it was worth a check, so the two split up, checking all the businesses in the area that might have cameras.

* * *

Upon returning to the station, they immediately went to have the security footage they had obtained analyzed. As they were dropping it off, one of the technicians told them he had something they needed to see.

"I was going through the security footage from the grocery store," the man started.

"It came already?" Steve asked, surprised at the quick turnaround.

"Yeah. The footage was extremely organized, too. Made my job that much easier. Okay, look at this," he said, pulling up some footage. "This is the entrance from inside the store. At 4:07 PM, in walks your victim and child. She grabs a basket and walks out of view. All of one minute later, in walks your suspect. He pauses and looks around, sees what he wants, I'm guessing the victim, and walks out of view."

"Does he have his hand in his coat?" Mike asked, squinting at the screen.

"Looks that way. Probably hiding the tainted tea." Steve just shook his head. He couldn't believe how much planning Paul put into this murder.

"Is that all you could find?" Mike asked. "That's nice and all, but…"

"Oh, ye of little faith," the technician said. He walked the guys over to another monitor. "This store is obviously very prepared for theft, as they have a camera looking down every single aisle. Fortunately, the security team has the footage labeled so I didn't have to wade through footage of the beer aisle just to get to something I want." He brought up some new footage. "This is the aisle with the tea. 4:18 PM, here comes your victim."

Steve watched Amy doing exactly what she said she did - she was dragging Jasmine into the aisle and the little girl was stomping her feet, throwing a fit. Amy then stood in front of the tea looking for the box she wanted, grabbing it when she found it. Jasmine ran down the aisle. Amy turned around and, upon seeing Jasmine running off, called out to her. The girl came slowly walking back to her nanny. Amy knelt down to Jasmine, her back to the camera. She set her basket down on the floor next to her while she talked to the girl.

"And here comes your suspect, hand still in his coat. Even though he's not really turned to the camera, it seems pretty obvious what he's doing," the technician said.

Steve watched as Paul slowly took his hand out of his coat. There was a box in his hand. He looked around and slowly approached Amy, who was busy paying attention to Jasmine. He quickly dropped the box into Amy's basket and pulled out the one she'd taken off the shelf. Paul put the original box back on the shelf and quickly left the aisle. Jasmine watched him the whole time until Amy diverted her attention.

"O'Brien can't say we don't have enough evidence on this one," Mike commented.

Steve smiled. "We've got this guy dead to rights, Mike. We got him!"

"What else did you bring me?" the technician asked, indicating the other footage they had just brought.

"We're looking for the same guy, but this time we need him in front of a bar pushing a woman down some stairs," Mike told him. "We got stuff from all around the bar, so you'll probably have to piece things together."

"I like a challenge. I'll get right on it, let you know what I find," he said.

Mike and Steve left and walked out to the hallway. "I've never seen you so happy over a case," Mike told his partner.

"I've never been so happy to get a murderer off the streets. This guy has been given free reign to do whatever he wants for too long." He paused. "Amy can have her life back now."

Mike smiled at his partner smiling. "Come on, Buddy Boy. Let's go make sure we have all our ducks in a row so that he'll never get out and bother her again."


	29. Chapter 29

Amy decided she needed to relax a little, and a bath sounded like the solution. It would also be much easier on her feet, so she went out to the living room and grabbed her suitcase. She set in down on the bed and opened it. The first thing she saw was Mr. Sniffles sitting on top. She laughed, took him out, and gave him a hug before setting him down on the bed. She then looked at what Steve had brought her. Again she laughed, this time thinking about his worry over what to bring her, and his making Mike do the picking.

Grabbing something to wear, she took her choice into the bathroom. She started to fill up the tub but then realized she didn't have anything to put in the water. She didn't figure a man would have bubble bath sitting around, but maybe there was something hiding in the medicine cabinet, so she stood up and started looking through it. It was a quick check, because she felt funny going through his private stuff.

Then she started looking through what appeared to be a linen closet, though it looked more like a closet to store anything that had no other place. Besides grabbing towels, she also managed to find a sample bottle of Avon bubble bath. Amy assumed that some aggressive Avon lady must have assumed a woman had lived here and tried to sell Steve cosmetics. Then she got to thinking - maybe a woman did live here at one time. This could have been a left over remnant of a former flame. Amy didn't like the thought - it bothered her enough to give her a knot in her stomach.

"Oh, this is stupid. It's just bubble bath," she said, reprimanding herself. "Who the hell gets jealous over bubble bath?"

She'd been on her feet enough for them to hurt, so she went back into the bathroom and turned the water back on, dumping the bubble bath into the water and watching the suds grow. She threw her hair up with a rubber band she found in her suitcase and, after a while, undressed and climbed into the tub. The hot water stung her feet and she cringed.

"I'm never walking barefoot outside again," she muttered as she settled in. She leaned her head back and tried to relax. She propped her feet up on the side of the tub, out of the water, and sat in silence. Only it was too silent, and she found herself over-listening for noises.

"I should have brought in a radio," she said. Since she didn't have any external noise to distract her, she had to turn to internal noise. She got to wondering about where Paul could be hiding himself. Considering she didn't even know that he was in San Francisco, she had no idea if he was living here or staying in a hotel. The story he told about coming up here to visit his grandmother was likely a lie at this point, so she doubted he was in Sausalito. She tried to remember if his family ever owned any property in the city or not; his father's electronics firm was headquartered in Los Angeles but had warehouse space all over California, so she assumed there was something in San Francisco. Would he really hide out in a warehouse? That seemed creepy and low even for him.

"Maybe he thinks no one would find him there." She shivered at the thought. "How many warehouses must San Francisco have? He could be hiding in any one of them!"

She took a deep breath. "He could also not be in town at all. You can order flowers from anywhere. You can call someone from anywhere. He did see us last night though. No, Amy, don't go there; San Francisco is a big city and he could be clear on the south side of town. Let's just hope he is."

Taking another deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to relax again. Her mind wandered to another question - was it possible for Paul to find Steve's apartment? Her eyes popped open, and she started thinking if it _were_ possible.

"Did I tell Paul his last name?" she asked herself. She tried remembering three days back to the confrontation in her kitchen. "No, no, I just called him Steve...I think." She couldn't be sure.

Could he find out another way? If he can plan out all these murders, he probably knew someone who could find Steve. _He doesn't know anything about him though_, she thought. _He probably still thinks Steve's a lawyer from Sacramento. There has to be a hundred guys named Steve between here and there. He couldn't possibly go knocking on every door in the city. That would take away from his planning time...his plan to kill Steve…_

"Yeah, this bath isn't working," she said aloud, scrambling out of the tub. She dried off and got dressed as quickly as she could - she had to be ready for anything and sitting in a tub was about as unready as a person could be.

* * *

Steve looked at his watch. It was close to 4:30 and he felt like they'd barely even begun. They had actually made a lot of progress, but he felt like nothing was wrapped up solid and all he wanted to do was go home, take a nap, and forget about it for a while. Instead, he looked at the nothing they had on the two remaining victims - Darren Oberlander and Shawn Denne. He couldn't find a single person who knew anything about Shawn's unfortunate bout with food poisoning, leading Steve to a dead end. He and Mike decided that one might just have to stay an accident. If it was Paul's doing, he'd be doing time for the other murders anyway.

Darren's accident kept gnawing at Steve though. There had to be some way he could prove it was Paul without talking to family and friends. He'd checked earlier and no businesses in the area caught anything on surveillance, or if they had, footage from three and a half years ago was long gone. He poured over the few details in the folder, hoping something would jump out at him. Then he remembered what Amy had told him; Darren had stayed up here for Christmas while she went home. He got to wondering where Paul was for the holiday. If he could place Paul in the city at the time, it was one step in the right direction. He picked up the phone.

* * *

"This show is ridiculous," Amy said, even though she was laughing at the episode of Tattletales she was watching. Though she felt that way, she was still grateful for the humorous distraction. She felt worn out from being on edge all day and needed the lighthearted banter.

When the phone rang, she jumped nearly a foot off the couch. After getting her heart back in its proper place, she looked at the phone, wondering if she should even answer it. It could be Steve...but it could be someone else that didn't need to know she was there. It kept ringing, so she slowly picked up the receiver and listened without saying anything.

"It's safe to talk, Honey," Steve said.

Amy chuckled nervously. "Sorry. I just didn't know if I should answer it or not."

"You doing okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Really?" he asked, doubt in his voice.

"Yes, really. I just jump at every weird sound I hear, but it's been an okay day. Are you coming home soon?"

Steve laughed. "But you're doing just fine, right? I don't know when I'll be home, to be honest."

"That's okay; you have a lot of work to do. Learn anything helpful today? Like, you'll be arresting Paul soon?"

"Soon, I promise. We need to get an arrest warrant first, but we'll be getting to that shortly. I do have a question for you though."

"About the case?"

"Yeah. You said Darren was killed after Christmas right?"

"Mmm hmm. Christmas 1971."

"Do you remember if Paul was in LA with you?" Steve asked.

Amy was silent for a moment. "Um...well, I'm not sure. Let me think. That was a terrible Christmas as it was."

Steve could hear the sadness in her voice. "First without your dad?"

"Yeah. Mom tried to make it this huge affair by inviting everyone I think she'd ever known. Christmas Eve night - our house was packed. So many people...many of them there I'm sure because they felt sorry for Mom. I didn't even know three-quarters of them. I ended up spending the entire night with Karen and her little brother; they were the only family I knew. None of Dad's family was even there." She paused. "Have you ever been in a crowded room but felt completely alone?"

"I think we all have at one point," Steve told her. "Though when it's in your own house, I imagine it's worse."

"It kind of soured me on Christmas. I used to love it, too. Every Christmas since has been like that. I almost didn't go home last year."

"Well, then this year, I will make sure to throw you a Christmas so spectacular, you'll believe in Santa Claus again."

"Good luck with that; I never believed in Santa to start with." She wiped a tear out of her eye. "I'm getting off track. Um...you know, the Carpenters were there, but he wasn't. Yeah, it was just his parents."

"I assume if he'd been in town, he would have been there," Steve said.

"Oh, definitely. He'd have been following me around. It didn't surprise me that he wasn't there though."

"Why not?"

"He and his dad did not really get along."

"Really? Maybe his father could tell he was a creep."

"You could call him Daddy's little disappointment. His father owns a pretty big electronics company, and he always wanted Paul to eventually follow in his footsteps and be a big wig. Problem is, Paul isn't exactly the debonaire go-getter who heads up successful companies. He's the geek who works in development by himself in a dark room. His father could never get over the fact that he had a son so unlike himself. He even blamed his wife for the fact that their only child was a...oh, what did he call him...a limp-wristed nancy boy?"

"His own father said that? Ouch."

"Yeah," Amy said. "Not that I'm defending him, but you hear enough of that in your life, you're liable to develop a complex. His dad also despised the fact that Paul was so fixated on me."

"This guy didn't like you? How could he not?" Steve scoffed.

"Well, you're biased, but it wasn't that. He just could tell it was a one-sided affair and wished his son would move on to someone else. The man felt sorry for me. One night, oh, maybe three or four months before my dad died, I was outside in my backyard for some reason that I can't remember anymore. I heard yelling on the other side of the fence, so naturally I listened in."

"Gee, I wonder where Jasmine got that from," Steve said sarcastically.

"Ha ha. At least I don't write things down. Anyway, Paul and his dad were arguing about me. His dad told him to stop being a creepy pervert; that girl doesn't love you! They went back and forth between Paul's delusions and his father's reality. Then it sounded like punches were being thrown. I wanted to peek over the fence, but I was kind of afraid to; it sounded pretty intense. Then a few weeks later, his father has a massive stroke. He's been disabled ever since. Always blamed his son though - still does."

"For the stroke?"

"Yeah. Everyone said it was just his impaired mental state doing the talking, but now? I don't know...do you think the fight would have caused a stroke?" Amy asked him.

"A hard enough blow to the head is liable to cause anything I would imagine. If his father had died, he would have been the first victim instead of your dad."

"Yeah. In a way, I guess he was anyway."

Steve started thinking again. "You don't happen to know what kind of car Paul drove back then, or if he even had one?"

"Yeah, he had his father's '69 Mercedes. It was a 280SL convertible I believe. Black. It was a nice car, but I never knew how he got ahold of it. His mother must have let him have it after his father's stroke."

Steve started looking through Darren's file to see if there was any mention of the other car in his accident.

"Oh man…" Amy muttered.

"What?"

"After I came back up here, my car's battery died. Paul came and gave me a ride somewhere, but it wasn't in the Mercedes. I asked him where it was, and he said he sold it. You don't suppose it…"

"Was actually wrecked and he had to hide it away somewhere? Sure seems that way, doesn't it?"

Amy sighed. "What a nightmare."

"It'll be over soon, I promise. What's Paul's father's name?"

"Calvin. Calvin Carpenter."

"Thanks. Looks like I'll be digging through DMV records now. Not that it will tell me where that car is now."

"You are going to be coming home tonight, aren't you?"

Steve laughed. "Yeah. Mike is talking to the D.A. right now about the evidence we have in Carl's murder, so even if I don't have all the pieces for the others, we'll get to arrest him for something."

"Good. I mean, I want you to get everything right so that there will be no chance of a mistrial or of him getting off on some stupid technicality, but...well, I'm selfish, and I don't want to spend the night alone."

"If I have to choose between spending the night with you or spending it here looking at these guys all night...I'm quitting my job."

Amy laughed. "I'm not sure anyone's ever said anything like that to me before...well, no one sane anyway. Nice to know I'm better company than a bunch of gruff detectives. Some days I wonder."

"What are you thinking?" Steve asked.

"Nothing. Why?"

"Your voice got sadder all of a sudden, which tells me you're thinking something bad about yourself again. What is it?"

"You and your making me talk thing." She sighed. "I was just wondering if this is what I get for being nice - having to hide from the world, lose my mind. If I would have been meaner to Paul or just flat out ignored him, maybe none of this would be happening. My dad would be alive, I'd be free to go wherever I wanted without looking over my shoulder…"

"That's not in your nature though. You were kind to him because you're a kind person. That's just who you are. No one knows how people will turn out when they get older. Pretty sure his father didn't help matters any with the way he treated him. Besides, if it wasn't you, it would be someone else. Do you know why he left UCSF?"

"Because he was spending too much time planning murders that he flunked out?"

"He got kicked out," Steve told her. "Official cause in his record is sexual misconduct. He kept hitting on one of his students until she threatened to turn him in. He later beat her up and got expelled."

Amy was in shock. "Oh my God! He couldn't get me, so he tried some other poor girl?"

"You want to know the worst part?"

"There's a worse part?"

"The girl looked a lot like you."

"Oh, that made me feel better. So not only did people die because they knew me, but also because they looked like me. Maybe that Milani guy should have shot me when he had the chance."

"Okay, maybe I shouldn't have told you that part, but this is not your fault. Anything a lunatic stalker does is NOT the victim's fault! You know that."

Amy sighed. "I know - you're right. It's just…"

"I know; you blame yourself because you're the common denominator. But you're the only one blaming you. Everyone else knows that you're a kind, caring person who couldn't hurt a fly. No one thinks you asked for this to happen."

She sniffled and dried her eyes once more. "I could hurt a fly; they're annoying."

Steve smiled. "I'll try to be home soon, okay? I love you."

"I love you too," Amy said. She hung up the phone and laid her head on the arm of the couch. She was tired of thinking, blaming, fearing.

Steve hung up and started reading through Darren's folder again. He pulled out the accident report and saw something interesting. He picked up the phone again and called the police impound. He didn't get the man he wanted to talk to, so he left a message and hung up the phone. He then picked it back up and called downstairs to talk to someone about a restraining order. According to the person he talked to, there was no restraining order against Amy. Steve had the lady double check, but she still found nothing.

"What a bitch," he muttered, referring to Janice Duncan apparently lying to Amy to keep her away. He then called Child Welfare. There, he got ahold of Jasmine's caseworker, to whom he explained that he was a police officer and that Jasmine was a witness in a case he was working on, so he needed to know where she was in case he needed to speak with her again.

"She's with a foster family who lives south of the 280. It's a far cry from what she was used to, and I guess they're nice enough people, but…"

"But what?" Steve asked, worried.

"I shouldn't say this, but you're in this same line of work - you see the types of people we often have to deal with. I just don't think this particular placement is ideal for someone so young and from that side of the tracks, so-to-speak. This woman has taken in fosters for years, but they've almost all been teenagers with drug and behavior problems. I had a foster girl tell me once that she almost got her throat slit in her sleep by one of the other kids because that kid thought she was hiding his weed. The woman claims she's tough on the kids, but…"

"I can't blame you for being worried," Steve said, suddenly fearing for Jasmine's safety.

"I should be objective, but this case is hard. That poor girl really doesn't belong in the system, and she certainly doesn't belong there, but they were the only home we could find on such short notice. We couldn't find any family willing to take her, which I find fishy quite frankly. But I can't question the boss, you know?"

Steve thought for a second. "This might sound crazy, and I'm probably overstepping my authority somehow, but my girlfriend was Jasmine's nanny. She's also a licensed social worker, so would it be at all possible for her to come stay with us instead? If Jasmine's really in that much danger…"

"That would be ideal!" the lady interrupted. "We try to place children with people they already have a relationship with if no family is available. And, if your girlfriend is a social worker, she might be on the foster registry anyway; the ones who often work with youth will sometimes sign up since they're already trained...what's her name?" the caseworker asked.

"Amy Johnson."

"Not LA Amy?" she asked excitedly.

"Um, could be? She is from LA."

"Went to Berkeley...dad's a lawyer, mom's an actress…"

"We must be talking about the same person," Steve told her.

"Oh, what a small world! She's on the list; I'm almost sure of it. She worked here for a few months while she was in school. Such a sweet girl. I wished she were still here, actually, but a certain person around here didn't like her. Oh, I would feel much better if Jasmine were with her. I really shouldn't be saying things like that."

"Your secret is safe with me," Steve assured her.

"There she is! I wonder if she even got a call this morning. See, there's that fishy feeling again. No matter. If she'd be willing, I can surely have Jasmine re-placed. I'll go pick her up shortly."

"Actually, why don't I just meet you there?" Steve suggested.

They agreed on a time and place, and Steve hung up the phone. He hoped he didn't get this lady in trouble, but he also didn't really care, so long as Jasmine was safe. He'd grown rather fond of the girl even though he'd only seen her twice. He was also fond of her nanny and knew this would make Amy very happy.

His phone rang again. He let out a sigh; he felt like he'd been on that thing all afternoon. He answered it and found he was talking with an officer in charge of the impound lot, Jackson.

"I'm looking at this file of a hit and run from December of '71. According to this, the victim's car was in impound for awhile. You wouldn't happen to remember a white '63 T-bird, hit on the driver's side?" Steve asked Jackson.

"Remember it? Sure I do, because it's still here."

Steve heard him shuffling some papers.

"Licence number California JLI 462, right?" Jackson said.

Steve looked at the file. "That's the one. Why is it still down there?"

"Paper says it's still part of an open investigation and not to move it until homicide is done with it. If you're homicide, Keller, why don't you know this?" he teased.

"We don't talk to each other much up here. I'll be down to look at it in a sec," Steve said and hung up the phone. He looked at his watch again. Five o'clock. "I may _not_ get home at this rate," he muttered as he stood up. He told Tanner to tell Mike where he was if Mike came looking for him, and then he walked out of homicide and down to impound.

* * *

Jackson showed Steve where the Thunderbird was as the two started walking to the back corner of the lot. Judging by the dust and dirt on the cars in that part of the lot, Steve knew these vehicles had been in impound for a while. While he walked, he looked at what was there; the vehicles ranged from fancy imports to ancient, broken-down heaps. Then he saw something that struck his eye.

"Is this a '69?" he asked Jackson, stopping in front of a black Mercedes convertible with major front end damage.

Jackson looked at it. "I think so. That car's been here about as long as your T-bird. Don't quote me, but I think that car was an abandon. I'll go find the file."

"Thanks," Steve said, walking two cars down to the white Thunderbird. The car's driver's side was pushed in almost to the middle of the car. Steve couldn't imagine how fast Paul had to have been going to wreck this car so badly. He looked back and forth from the Mercedes to the Thunderbird, trying to determine if these two cars were in the same wreck. He couldn't see how they weren't. He also wondered how Paul supposedly walked away from it.

He walked back to the Mercedes and pried open the passenger's door. The front end of the car had been shoved far enough back to make opening the door difficult. Once he got the door open, he opened the glove box, looking for a registration. Finding nothing, he started looking all around, but there was nothing in the car indicating who owned it.

He got out and saw Jackson coming back with papers in his hand.

"Car was abandoned on 20th. Found on December 30 after someone complained about it. Been here ever since," Jackson explained.

"Who owns it?" Steve asked.

Jackson looked at the paper. "No idea."

Steve looked at him questioningly. "No idea?"

"No plates, no registration..."

"No one ran the VIN?"

Jackson just shrugged.

Steve walked to the driver's side. The hood was pushed up over the windshield, making seeing the VIN plate hard to see. He asked Jackson for a flashlight, which the man pulled off his belt and handed to Steve. He turned on the light and saw that half the VIN was scratched off.

"I can't believe this," he muttered. "That idiot thought of everything."

He took his notebook and pen out of his pocket and wrote down what numbers were readable. Jackson took his flashlight back and walked away; Steve went back to the Thunderbird.

A few minutes later, Mike found his partner knelt down, looking at the side of the Thunderbird. "What exactly are you doing?" he asked.

"This is the car Darren Oberlander was driving when he was hit and killed." He pointed to the Mercedes. "I think that was the murder weapon. I'm just trying to find paint transfer or something."

"You want a transfer to accident investigation?" Mike asked.

"Always good to have options in case this stint in homicide doesn't work out," Steve told him.

Mike walked over to the Mercedes and looked at the front. "Carpenter walked away from this car?"

"That's what I thought."

The two were silent for a moment, both busy inspecting the vehicles. They began sharing spots they found that looked the color of the opposite car.

"Why don't we turn this over to the guys in the garage?" Mike suggested.

"Yeah. I need to run the VIN on the Mercedes anyway. Amy told me Paul drove a black '69 280SL, but there's nothing on that car to indicate an owner but a partial VIN."

Mike stuck out his hand. "Give me the number. I'll run it and get these two cars to the garage. You have someone to get home to."

Steve smiled and handed Mike his notes. "Normally I would argue, but I appreciate it. What about the warrant?"

"Hopefully tomorrow morning. Go home, rest up. Tomorrow might be a long day."


	30. Chapter 30

_**Well, I know Mike would be excited about the outcome of the World Series, no? :D**_

After getting off the phone with Steve, Amy found herself with nothing to do, so she walked into the kitchen and looked in the cabinet under the sink. Whenever she was bored and restless at home, she'd start cleaning anything she could find. She figured as long as Steve was letting her hide out, she might as well do something for him to earn her keep.

Starting in the kitchen, she cleaned the sink, counter, and even got on her hands and knees to scrub the floor. That chore she didn't mind as it was much easier on her feet than standing at the counter. She was happy to see that despite being a bachelor, Steve seemed to be a clean person. No other single man she'd ever known was clean; it was the girlfriends and wives who made them straighten up. Since she was scrubbing the floor, a rather non-brain-taxing activity, her mind wandered back to the same place it wandered when she found the bubble bath. Maybe the place was clean because there really was a girl...or had been very recently.

"I need an on/off switch for my brain," she said aloud while throwing the scrub brush at the floor, mad at herself for again thinking ridiculous thoughts. "I hope it's just the stress, and I'm not such an idiot afterward." She went back to scrubbing but soon found herself scrubbing so hard, her arms hurt. She wondered what exactly she was trying to rub out - her jealous thoughts or the reason she was at Steve's in the first place - Paul.

Sighing, she stood up and looked at the clock. The kitchen had wasted close to an hour, and Steve wasn't home yet, so she decided to clean the bathroom. Scrubbing the tub would get her off her feet and get rid of some of her frustration. Still wearing rubber gloves, she started to head into the bathroom when someone knocked at the front door. She froze, unsure of what to do. Then she realized if it were Paul, he probably wouldn't knock on the door before killing her...would he?

"Amy? Are you in there?" a voice shouted from the other side of the door.

She recognized the voice as Karen's, so without hesitation, she went to the door and unlocked it. She soon found herself staring at more than just Karen though.

"Mom! Aunt Kaye. Wha...what are you guys doing up here?" she asked, stunned.

"Oh, please don't tell me you're up here cleaning houses for a living," Margaret Johnson said to her daughter.

Amy looked at her hands and quickly took off the gloves. "No, not exactly. Uh...come in I guess."

The three walked into Steve's apartment. Amy threw the gloves in the kitchen, and upon returning, Kaye gave her niece a hug and told her she looked good. Margaret was less enthusiastic.

"If you're not the maid, Dear, then what are you doing here?" she asked instead.

"Mom, Aunt Margaret, why don't you have a seat?" Karen suggested. She then pulled Amy into the bedroom and shut the door.

"What the hell is my mother doing here?" Amy loudly whispered. "Actually, what are you doing here?"

"I got home a few hours ago and found someone putting a new front door on our apartment. I asked him why, and he told me to ask the manager. So I did, and he told me the cops told him to put it on because someone tried to break in and ended up kicking a hole in the door?!"

"It was Paul," Amy said. "After you called last night, he called and more or less threatened me, so I ran out of there and came here. I walked here without shoes on at midnight to get away from that place." She sat down on the bed and showed Karen the bottom of her feet.

"Ouch. So now he's trying to kidnap you?"

"I don't know. I'm more or less hiding out here now just in case. No one followed you here, did they?" she asked Karen, suddenly very frightened.

"No, I don't think so."

"How'd you know where Steve lived?"

"I called him. I figured if you weren't at home, you'd be here. I was hoping it was under much better circumstances though."

"Yeah. So what are _they_ doing here? And what is my mother's problem? Oh God, she's probably going to try and drag me back to LA with her...again."

"Apparently Dad got Mom some spa weekend getaway up here, and she decided her sister could use a vacation. So they show up at our door an hour ago."

"It's Tuesday!" Amy shouted as softly as she could.

"Not a literal weekend getaway. I don't know; Mom said Aunt Margaret didn't want to come until last night. I guess she changed her mind for some reason?"

Amy started at the wall for a moment. "Why now?"

Amy shrugged. "She wasn't too pleased when you weren't home though."

Amy sighed exasperatedly. "Great. So now she'll want to know whose place this is, and I'll get the third degree."

She stood up, opened the door, and walked into the living room. "So, what brings you guys up here?" she asked, smiling the fakest smile she could muster.

'Your uncle decided that we needed to come up here and see our children, so he got us a hotel room and a day at a spa so we could all relax and have some fun," Kaye said.

"How nice!" Amy said facetiously, sitting down on the chair by the couch.

"And then we get to your place and find you're not even there," Margaret chimed in. "Did you move and not tell me?"

"Obviously not, since you called me there yesterday morning, and I answered," Amy told her mother.

"So why are you here if you don't work here? What happened to your nanny job? Whose place is this?" she asked, looking around.

"No, my nanny job sort of ended when his wife accused me of murder. Seems she hates me, wants to ruin my entire life, and will never let me see her daughter again."

"So you're not working? Is that why you're here? You have a new roommate." She glanced quickly at Karen, giving her a _What did you do?_ look. "You're not bumming off someone, are you?" Her mother's voice was full of disappointment.

Amy considered at least half a dozen lies before deciding it would just be easier to tell the truth - a modified version of it anyway. She figured it would lead to less arguments down the road.

"Remember that policeman you talked to yesterday morning?" she asked her mother.

"Which one? I actually talked to a few yesterday," Margaret answered in a disdainful tone.

Amy looked at her mother, wondering where this was leading. "The one from here, on the phone. Steve Keller."

"Oh, the San Francisco cop. Yes. Remind me to thank him for having his Los Angeles brothers in blue come visit me yesterday. I enjoyed having them open up old wounds."

Amy stared at her mother. "What are you talking about?"

"So is this Mr. Keller's place then? Why are _you_ here? Is there something you're not telling me about this 'help' you're giving him?"

Amy was taken aback. "You know, Mom, I really don't owe you any explanations. I mean, I'm 25, so I can be friends with whomever I choose and do whatever I want with them. Yes, this is Steve's place. Now answer my question."

"Mildred calls me yesterday and tells me she needs the keys to your father's office. I ask her why. She tells me a cop from San Francisco called and wants her to go in there to look for evidence. Evidence of what I ask. That your father was killed she says. Killed. How ridiculous is that?"

"It's not," Amy said quietly.

Her mother continued as if she didn't hear Amy. "She wouldn't let up until I brought her the damn keys though, so I drove all the way downtown because some cop from San Francisco with nothing better to do thinks my husband was murdered. Is that cop your 'friend' Steve?"

"Yeah, it is," Amy said with an attitude. "And trust me, it's not because he has nothing better to do."

"So I decide I need to come see you, find out what's going on. As I'm packing this morning, two detectives from the LAPD come knocking on my door and start asking me all about your father's death again. You really think I want to relive that? I tried to tell them that all the questioning was unnecessary; Glen's death was not a murder, but they kept saying that they were checking to see if it was related to some homicides up here."

Amy couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Are you saying that you'd rather keep on thinking that Dad died on his own? Someone killed him, Mom! That means that he'd still be alive if not for that! Someone should pay for what they did! Your husband would still be here, with you, if not for...this person! Wouldn't you rather know exactly what happened?"

"Amy, Dear, it took me a very long time to accept the fact that I'm a widow. Then it took me another long amount of time to accept the fact that I was also no longer a mother."

Amy closed her eyes and bit her tongue. She knew her mother still resented her move to San Francisco, but she'd never vocalized it so bluntly.

"But I did. I finally got over it."

Kaye looked at her sister. "Margaret…" she started to say in protest, but was quickly cut off.

"Until today, when your so-called friend decides to ruin my life. Did he talk you into going along with this?"

Amy stood up, her face turning a bright shade of red, and stood in front of her mother. "Ruin your life? Steve ruined your life?! Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now?! Some piece of shit kills your husband in cold blood, and you get mad at the detective who's trying to find the truth! That is so backwards I can't even process it! And yes, Steve did talk me into the theory of Dad being killed, because he realized that maybe all these people around me who were dying weren't dying from bad luck. Turns out he was right! There is evidence in almost all of them, and that evidence points to murder!"

Margaret stood up and faced her daughter. She put her hands on Amy's shoulders like she was about to shake some sense into her. "Honey, listen to yourself. Accidents are not murder. I don't know why this man has convinced you of that; maybe to a murder detective, everything is murder." She paused and sighed. "I honestly thought you'd healed from all this, but I guess I was wrong. I shouldn't have let you come up here. Being away from home has messed up your mind."

Amy knocked her mother's hands off her shoulders fiercely. She then turned and looked at her aunt and cousin. They looked as confused as her. She walked away from her mother, then turned back and looked at her.

"Think whatever you want, Mother, but Daddy was murdered. End of story." She folded her arms and just stood looking at Margaret.

Margaret looked at the floor and shook her head. "Has your 'friend' turned up any suspects?"

Amy didn't like the way Margaret kept using the word 'friend' when referring to Steve. "Yes, my 'friend' has. One. The same one for every single person who has died on me in the last two and a half years."

Kaye gasped. "Like a serial killer?"

Amy nodded. "Precisely. Still think this person doesn't exist, Mom?"

Margaret sat back down on the couch. "You never told me what you were doing here. If he's not here, then why are you?"

"If you really must know, I'm hiding from someone."

"Hiding? Why on earth would you need to be hiding? Does this have anything to do with the break in at your apartment?" Margaret suddenly looked worried.

Amy was still angry. "Yeah, it does. The person who tried to break into my apartment last night is stalking me. He called me, threatened me, threatened Steve...so now I'm here hiding, hoping he doesn't figure out where I am. If he does, I'm afraid he'll kill one of us."

"You should have seen what he did to the door with just his foot," Karen said. "I'm hoping the new door is more solid."

Margaret stood back up and walked over to her daughter. She gave her a hug which Amy did not reciprocate.

"You poor thing! Honey, if you're so afraid, why don't you seek Paul's help? He's up here, and I know he'd be more than willing to help you. He's always had your back."

Karen rushed over to Amy and put her arm around her cousin. It prevented Amy from lunging at her mother, which she tried.

"Why don't you guys just drop this," Karen suggested.

Amy ignored her. "He's the one I'm hiding from!" she yelled. "He's the one stalking me! He sent me an entire store's worth of flowers, begging me to love him! He followed me around town on my date last night! He called me in the middle of the night, trying to scare me into loving him! He's insane!"

Margaret looked at her daughter with pity. "You can't be talking about Paul Carpenter. The cute little boy from next door?" She laughed. "He couldn't hurt a fly!"

"Tell Calvin that while he sits in his wheelchair, unable to walk or talk because his own son hit him in the head hard enough to cause a stroke. See if he thinks that 'cute little boy' could hurt a fly."

"Calvin is just confused," Margaret said.

"Confused my ass. He knows exactly who his son is, even if you and his wife are blind to it."

"Well, pardon me for not trusting the word of a man who lied for years to his wife about affairs and such and now expects her to take care of him even though he didn't take care of her. He was always a lousy father anyway; God finally just decided that it was time for some karma."

Amy couldn't even vocalize how she felt toward what her mother had just said.

"Paul is not someone to be scared of! You're acting like he's Jack the Ripper," Margaret told her.

"He is! He's got six murders tied to him already, and who knows if those are all of them!"

Margaret scoffed. "Your 'friend' must be a pretty bad detective then."

"Stop referring to him as my 'friend'!" she growled at her mother. "He's a damn good cop; he's much better at it than Paul is at anything but being a freak."

Margaret shook her head. "Honey, I love you, but you never did have sense enough to know who was good for you. You just never could read people without them slapping you in the face with their feelings. Paul has loved you for years, but you would never give him a chance! I have never seen a man so devoted to keeping a girl safe and happy. Well, besides your father."

"Oh, I am going to be sick," Karen said, finally letting go of Amy's waist. If she wanted to attack her mother, Karen had no problem with it anymore.

"Don't you EVER compare Paul to Daddy. Were you not aware how much your husband hated and distrusted Paul? There was a reason for that, and it got him killed," Amy said angrily, but calmly.

"Your father was not around Paul enough to really know him. I'm starting to wonder if you were. No, you were too busy with that other young man who assaulted you at the prom. Really, Honey? You thought he was a better boyfriend than Paul?"

Amy's face was on fire and she was clenching her jaw so tight her face also hurt. She had no idea how her mother even knew about that or why she was now using it against her.

"And what about this new...Steve. What about him? What is going on with you two?"

"You seem to have all the answers; you tell me," Amy said through clenched teeth.

Margaret frowned. "Paul loves you though."

"And I love Steve," Amy said, staring right into her mother's eyes. "He's saved me more than once, even from myself. He worries about me, he makes me laugh." Tears welled up in her eyes, partly from frustration, partly from happiness. "He loves me."

"Paul loves you!" he mother said forcefully. "He's loved you for years, not...how long have you and Steve even known each other?"

Karen put her hand on her face.

"That doesn't matter," Amy said quietly.

"Yes it does! How long?"

Amy tried her hardest to just not say anything, but her mother's angry stare got the better of her. "A week! One whole week! That's all!" she screamed.

"You can't seriously believe you're in love with someone you've known a week! Sweetheart, you're too smart for that. What has he done, brainwashed you into falling for him so that he can..."

Amy didn't let her mother finish; she didn't need to. She'd heard this same excuse before, only this time her reaction was different - she slapped her mother right across the face. Margaret stood in stunned silence.

"You don't know anything about Steve Keller, and neither does Paul. Don't you pretend like you even know me anymore. Now get out of my apartment before I call the cops and have you thrown out," Amy snarled.

Kaye jumped off the couch. "I think it would be a good idea if the three of us went back to the hotel and leave Amy here. It's getting late and I'm sure Mr. Keller will be home shortly anyway." She put her hands on her sister's shoulders and tried leading her away from the staredown she was engaged in with her daughter. Kaye finally managed to pull her sister away and toward the door. She turned back to her niece.

"Will you be free tomorrow to join us at the spa? It sounds like maybe you could use a little relaxation?" She gave Amy a look that said she was truly sorry for everything that had just happened.

"I'll have to talk to my bodyguard," she said snidely, more at her mother than aunt.

"We'll call then," she said, pushing her sister out the door.

Margaret did manage to get one more stab in before leaving. "Your father would be so disappointed in you for not giving Paul a chance."

Karen held Amy back and told her mother she'd be out in a second.

As soon as the two older ladies were out of sight, Amy collapsed into a ball on the floor and cried.

"What in the hell was that?" Karen yelled, hugging Amy.

After Amy had cried for a moment, she picked her head up and looked at Karen. "You better get out there before one of them comes back in looking for you."

"Yeah, but you're not…"

Amy cut off Karen's protest. "I'll be fine," she said. Her crying had slowed and she was back to sounding angry.

"Fine? How can you after that?!"

"Aunt Kaye is right; Steve will be here soon. I will be fine."

Karen stood up. "Call me later then."

"You're not going back there, are you?"

"Pretty sure he knows you're not there anyway. I'm not worried."

Amy just sighed. Karen wasn't going to listen to her. As she walked toward the door, Amy said, "Good luck."

"With your mother? What I need is the self-control to not deck her." She shook her head and walked out the door.

Amy stayed in her puddle and started crying again.


	31. Chapter 31

_**Thank you again to all who have read and/or reviewed and kept up with the story! I promise, it is not the never-ending story. It has an ending and I'm getting closer. :D**_

Steve pulled in front of a small, run down house on Silver Avenue. The neighborhood was decent enough, but like the caseworker had said, a far cry from Sea Cliff. The paint was peeling off the salmon-colored exterior, the single-car garage door was missing a panel on the bottom, and the blinds in the large window above the garage were broken in several places. It was clear to Steve that the people who lived here didn't care much about their property.

Minutes later, a white Chevrolet Corvair came down the street and pulled in front of the house. Assuming it was the caseworker, Steve got out of the LTD and approached her.

"Lois McFadden?" he asked the lady in the Corvair.

"Yes. You must be Steve," she said, grabbing a large purse and then extending her hand for him to shake.

"So everything worked out alright?" Steve asked, slightly worried this foster mother had ideas other than handing Jasmine over.

"Yeah. Thelma seemed just fine with it, especially when I told her I had a teenager who just came in the system that I would send as a...replacement of sorts. It sounds like I'm talking about defective toasters, not children," Lois said, shaking her head.

"Thelma?" Steve asked, following Lois up the stairs to the front door.

"Thelma Dixon, the foster mother. She has two kids of her own, plus a foster. She can have as many as two fosters at a time, so us moving Jasmine was fine with her. She'd rather have the older kids anyway since hers are older."

Lois pushed the doorbell that was attached to the gate in front of the door. Soon a teenage boy with a baseball cap on opened the door.

"Oh, you again," he muttered, coming out and unlatching the gate. "You here to move me again, Miss McFadden?"

"No, not you James. Is everything okay?" she asked the boy as she and Steve walked into the house.

"Why can't you ever put me up in some mansion with a pool and a butler who talks funny? Why you always gotta put me in a dump like this?"

Steve walked through the front door and looked at the "dump" James was complaining about. For a surly teenager, the kid was pretty accurate about the status of the dwelling. There was stuff strewn about the floor - everything from clothes and shoes to books and soda bottles. The place had a stale stench, like it had been shut up and not cleaned in months. It also smelled faintly like a combination of cigarette smoke and stale beer. Steve thought maybe that smell had been stronger hours earlier, but the visit from Child Welfare prompted someone to hide it. The walls looked dirty and dingy and the curtains were in no better shape than the blinds.

"This is better than the group home, isn't it?" Lois asked James.

He shrugged and muttered, "I guess. She's kind of a bitch though, ya know?"

"Lose the attitude and she might not be a bitch...ya know," Lois said, giving him attitude back. "Where is she?"

James pointed toward the kitchen, which was in the back of the house. He wandered off to get her. Another teenage boy came into the room, this one wearing bellbottoms, a checkered button down shirt, and a feathered hair style. He looked at Steve and started sniffing the air.

"Smells like a barbeque in here. Oh, sorry, Officer. Didn't see you there." He then laughed hysterically at his own joke.

Steve smiled at him. It would take a lot more than a punk teenager to rattle him.

"You here to serve out some of that old-fashioned police brutality you guys love? One of your brothers rousted a friend of mine the other day for standing in the wrong spot. Roughed him up real good. Man was only carrying a little bit of weed."

"Well, gosh, Man, I guess it's too bad that even a little bit of weed is illegal in California. If I search you, am I gonna find anything on you?" Steve said, acting just as tough as the kid.

"His dumb ass better not have anything on it," Thelma said, storming into the kitchen. She looked at her son. "Get your stupid ass into that kitchen and help your new brother."

The son walked off toward where James had gone.

"Sorry about him. I wish I could trade him for another one you got," Thelma said to Lois.

Lois just kind of laughed it off. Steve rolled his eyes.

"Thelma Dixon, this is Steve Keller. He's here to take Jasmine," Lois said.

Thelma looked him up and down. "You look like you'd be from her neighborhood. Well, good luck to ya; she hasn't said a word since she got here. Hasn't eaten anything either. She's in the last room down the hall," she said, pointing.

Steve turned around and walked toward the bedroom. Lois stayed in the living room and began a conversation with Thelma. At the end of the hallway, a teenage girl stood outside a closed bedroom door.

She looked up at the stranger coming toward her. "You here to take her?" she asked.

"Yeah. She in there?" he asked, motioning his head toward the door.

The girl nodded. "I tried to get her to eat something, but she won't. She just sits in the corner and cries. I gave her one of my old stuffed animals thinking it would make her feel better."

Steve could tell the girl, unlike the other two in the house, actually cared. "Thanks," he told her.

He opened the bedroom door and found a room that was no cleaner than the living room, though the draperies were in better shape and it smelled more like vanilla. What he didn't see was Jasmine. He walked around the bed, toward the window, and found her huddled in the corner, her knees to her chest, squeezing a teddy bear for dear life. She didn't look up at all.

Steve sat down on the floor in front of her. "Hey, Princess," he said quietly.

At the sound of his voice, she finally turned her head to see who was in the room with her. Once her eyes landed on him, she jumped up and lunged toward him. "Steve!" she said excitedly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and said, "Are you here to take me away?" Then she started crying.

He rubbed her back. "Hey, don't cry. Everything is going to be okay now." He was amazed at how excited she was to see him, considering she'd only talked with him twice.

She kept crying and he kept rubbing her back and telling her everything would be alright. After awhile, he pulled her away so he could look at her face. It was red, like she'd been crying all day.

"Amy cries on me like this all the time; don't you start doing it too," he teased as he brushed away hair from her face.

"I don't like it here," she said sadly. "They all scare me. Except Jana - she's nice."

He assumed Jana was the girl in the hall. "Did she give you that?" he asked, indicating the teddy bear.

Jasmine nodded.

"How would you like to come stay with Amy and me for a while?"

Jasmine's eyes perked up. "I can see Amy?"

"Absolutely. I know she'd love to see you."

"What about Mama? She'll get mad."

"Your mom really can't say anything about it anymore. You can see Amy as much as you want now."

Jasmine smiled. "Let's go," was all she said. She grabbed her suitcase, threw the teddy bear on the bed, and hugged Steve's leg once he stood up.

He laughed, picked her up, and carried her out of the bedroom.

On her way past Jana, Jasmine waved, but then promptly buried her head in Steve's shoulder so she didn't have to look at anyone else.

"Ready to go?" Lois asked, seeing Steve and Jasmine come into the living room.

Steve nodded, thanked Thelma for watching Jasmine for a few hours, and the three left the house and walked down the stairs to the street.

"You look a lot happier now," Lois told Jasmine as Steve put her in the backseat of the LTD.

"I get to see Amy!" she said, buckling her seatbelt.

Steve told her to sit patiently and closed the car door. He walked Lois around the car.

"She and Amy must be close," Lois commented.

"Yeah, I don't think I even know how close. Say, how much does she know about what happened? Does she know her mother's in jail?"

"I don't know about that, but I know she saw the police take her off in handcuffs. Whether she knows what happens after that, I can't say. I can say that she was more upset having to leave her house than losing her mother, which is abnormal."

"You ever meet her mother?" Steve asked.

Lois shook her head.

"If you had, you wouldn't be surprised." He paused. "What about relatives? You said you couldn't find any willing to take her?"

Lois again shook her head. "I'm no mind reader, but I'm guessing that all the people on her mother's side want nothing to do with Janice or her daughter. A couple acted like taking the girl would ruin their reputations."

It was Steve's turn to shake his head, only his was in disbelief.

"As far as anyone on her father's side, the only people I found were a sister in New York and an aunt in Phoenix. I didn't get ahold of either one. They still might be a possibility, but who knows." Lois frowned. "I've been doing this for twenty years and have never seen a child from a background like hers have absolutely no one who cared. Makes me sick. I'm so glad you called, really."

"Yeah, so am I. If there's ever anything I should know, give me a call." He pulled one of his cards out of his wallet and handed it to her.

"Will do. Tell Amy hello for me. I don't know if she'd remember me or not, but I remember her."

"I will."

The two went their separate ways with Steve heading back to his car. He got in and looked back at Jasmine. "I hear you refused to eat anything. I bet you're hungry."

"Yeah," she said kind of quietly while looking out the side window.

"Tell you what. Let's go home and see Amy, then we'll get something for dinner."

Jasmine turned to him and smiled.

* * *

As he drove the twenty-minute trek toward his apartment, he occasionally glanced in the rearview mirror at Jasmine. She was always looking out the window, quiet as a mouse. She wasn't crying anymore, but he could tell she wasn't back to the bubbly little girl he'd seen before.

"Sounds like you had a pretty rough morning," he said after a few minutes in the car.

"I didn't have to go to school. I liked that," she said, still looking out the window.

"I always liked it when I didn't have to go to school too," he said. He really wanted to know how much she knew about what had happened, but he didn't want to push. He also wondered if it would be better coming from Amy, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Steve?" Jasmine said a few moments later.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Where did they take her?"

Steve looked in the rearview mirror again, this time seeing Jasmine looking at him.

"Where did they take who?" he asked, looking straight ahead and playing dumb.

"Where did your police friends take my mom? They took her away this morning in those little bracelets that tie your hands together. Do you have those?"

Steve wanted to smile about the handcuffs but not about the situation. He felt better just keeping his eyes on the freeway.

"Yeah, I have those 'bracelets'."

"Do you use them a lot?"

"When I have to take a bad guy to jail, yeah." He wasn't sure he should have said that.

"So that's where she went," Jasmine said before not saying anything for a couple miles. "Was it because she was mean to me? Mean people are bad, and bad people go to jail."

"What do you mean by mean to you? What did your mom do that was mean?"

"Lots of things. When the policeman was taking her outside today, I was standing at the top of the stairs watching. She saw me and screamed at me and told me this was all my fault."

Steve shook his head in disgust. "What was your fault?"

"I don't know. She was mad that I gave you my spy notebook and talked to you. I thought it was okay to talk to police; they're there to help you if you get in trouble. My teacher said that."

"Your teacher is right."

"So then why would Mama be mad I talked to you?"

There was no way to explain a person like Janice to a six year old. Someone that young couldn't understand that her mother and father were in a war with each other and that what she told Steve and Amy was partially responsible for her mother going to jail.

"Sometimes when people do things that are wrong, they get mad when they get caught. Your mom...she did some things that were wrong. Her punishment is that she has to go to jail for a while."

"This dumb girl in my class, Michelle - she was being mean to my friend Robin. She pulled her hair at recess and stuff, so I told on her. Michelle got mad at me when she had to sit in the office instead of playing so she pulled my hair then! Is it like that?"

"Yeah, it's exactly like that." Steve laughed to himself at the thought that Janice really was acting worse than a kindergartener. He wished the worst thing Janice had done to Amy was pull her hair.

"I helped you and Amy you said," Jasmine added moments later.

"You did! You helped us a lot."

Jasmine sat quiet for a while again, looking back out the window. Steve wondered what she was thinking. He pulled the car off the 101 and onto 7th Street. At a stoplight, Jasmine spoke again.

"She's not coming back...is she?"

Steve couldn't tell from her tone of voice whether she was scared she wouldn't get out of jail...or she would.

"I don't want her to," she added a moment later.

The light was still red, so Steve turned and looked at her. "You don't?"

Jasmine looked at Steve and shook her head. "Can I tell you a secret?"

He turned back around just as the light turned green. "Sure. I promise I won't tell anyone."

"I heard something once that I didn't write down. I didn't even tell Amy, and I told her lots of stuff."

"Why didn't you tell her?"

"I didn't want her to get in trouble. One other time I told her a secret, about Mama being mean to me, and Mama yelled at her and got her in trouble with some lady that came to the house." She sniffed.

Steve looked in the rearview mirror and saw tears coming down her cheeks. Before turning onto Folsom Street, he pulled the car over and put it in park. He turned around and looked at Jasmine.

"Whatever you tell me...it won't get Amy in trouble again, I promise. There is nothing your mom can do to her now."

Jasmine sat for a time, looking out the window. Then, without turning around, she spoke. "They fought a lot."

"Your mom and dad?" Steve asked.

She nodded. "They liked to fight when they thought I was asleep. Amy always left after she put me to bed, so she never heard them."

"But you did," Steve said sadly.

"Yeah. One night, it was really loud! So I went downstairs so I could hear better. Mama and Daddy were in his office yelling at each other." She paused for a second, then unbuckled her seatbelt, stood up, and hung on the back seat to hold herself up. "Steve, what is a whore?" she asked with a completely straight face.

Steve's eyes widened, and he was at a loss for words. After a second or two, he did manage to spit out, "Where did you hear that?"

"Mama told Daddy she was tired of raising some whore's daughter."

Steve ran his hand through his hair. He had no idea what Janice was talking about or how to answer Jasmine's question. He really wished Amy were there; she'd probably come up with an answer.

"What else did she say?" he asked instead.

"She said she wasn't my mother and was sick of pretending she was. Then she was mad that I like Amy better than her. She called Amy a whore too."

"Well that's not true," was all he could think to say.

"She said she'd never let Amy raise her fake daughter though. Then she told Daddy that everything would be fine if he could just keep it in his pants. Then he told her he could if she was better in the sack. So, what's in his pants, and why would anyone be in a sack? People don't fit in sacks! I know - I tried once."

Steve felt like banging his head repeatedly on the headrest. If knowing how to answer such questions was a requirement of parenthood, he was clearly not ready. Although, he thought, his children would never hear such language from him in the first place.

He let out a breath. "You know, let's just forget about what they said. Your mom and dad...they didn't really like each other, so they said stupid things to make each other mad. Adults do it a lot." Please let that be a good enough explanation, he thought.

"Do you and Amy?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. We like each other."

She smiled.

"Your mom said she wasn't your mom?" Steve asked for clarification.

"Yeah. If she's not my mom, then does that mean she won't come back? I don't want her to hit me anymore."

"She hit you?!" he asked, almost too loudly.

Jasmine nodded. "Yeah. That was the secret that got Amy in trouble. I didn't want to lie to the lady who came, but Mama made me." She stopped talking and her eyes started welling up with tears.

Steve felt bad for her. He hadn't realized just how awful this little girl's home situation had been. "You don't have to worry about that anymore. Your mom...or whatever...is out of your life, and she won't be coming back." It was a bold statement for him to be making, but he had a feeling that if Janice did try to get her daughter back, Amy would do whatever it took to stop her.

"You promise?" Jasmine asked, a tear running down her cheek.

"I promise," he said, hoping he'd never have to break it.

She plopped back down on the seat and put the belt back on. "I want you and Amy to be my new mommy and daddy," she said, as if her simply saying it would make it true. Then as quickly, she changed the subject. "Can we have anything for dinner?"

Steve was actually grateful for the subject change. He had no idea what to say about her request. He turned around and put the car in drive. "Sure. Anything you want," he said, pulling back into traffic.

* * *

Standing at the top of the stairs, Steve looked at Jasmine and said, "Now when we go in, I want you to be very quiet. Amy doesn't know you're coming, and I want it to be a surprise, okay?"

She nodded and put her right index finger up to her lips. Taking his keys out of his right pants pocket, he unlocked the door and slowly opened it, looking around inside the apartment. He saw no one. He walked in and Jasmine quietly followed.

"Amy?" he called out, but heard no response. He whispered to Jasmine to have a seat on the couch. He then turned the TV on and handed her the remote. She sat quietly on the couch and started pressing buttons, more interested in that than actually watching a show.

Steve wandered around, noticing the bedroom door was closed. He hoped that Amy was just taking a nap. Opening the door, he saw her lying in the middle of the bed with a cloth over her eyes. He closed the door, walked over to the bed, and sat down next to her.

"Hey," he said softly, rubbing her arm.

"I'm awake," she mumbled.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Not physically, no. What time is it?"

"A little after six. What happened?" he asked, concerned.

"Nothing."

He took the cloth off her eyes and saw that even though they were closed, the skin around them was red and puffy.

"Nothing, huh? Your eyes tell a different tale."

She said nothing, but Steve could tell she was about to start crying again.

"You might as well tell me what happened, because you know I'll bug you about it until you do," he told her.

Amy threw her eyes open and gave Steve an angry look. "You know who came to town today, apparently solely to ruin my life?"

"Who would do that, besides Paul of course…"

"My mother," she said curtly.

"Your mother? Ruin your life?" Steve lay down on his back beside Amy and took her hand in his. "Okay, spill it. What did she do? Or why is she even here?"

Amy took a deep breath and squeezed Steve's hand. "She's mad that you called and had Mildred look in Daddy's office. She's mad that the LAPD came to the house, asking her questions about his death." She paused. "Why the LAPD?"

"I had to give them the case since it happened there and not here. Trust me, I wasn't happy about it."

"Oh. Anyway, for some reason she's mad that we think it's a murder. Does the LAPD think it is?"

"I don't know; I didn't hear from them again, though the detective I talked to seemed to think so based just on what I told him. I can understand being mad that your husband was murdered though," Steve said.

"You don't get it; she's not mad that someone murdered him, she's mad that we're bringing it back up! It's almost like she was fine with it being an accident and how dare we make her relive all that pain again."

"Well, no one likes to be dragged back through a painful time, though I assume you already know that, so there's something else going on here."

Amy propped herself up on her right arm and looked at Steve. "She hates you. Hates you! She doesn't even know you, and she hates you! She thinks you ruined her life by looking into Dad's death."

Steve smirked and shook her head. "I guess she can think whatever she wants; the truth is right there in black and white. And I don't particularly care if she likes me or not."

"I care! Especially when she hates you because she thinks you're brainwashing me into thinking Dad was killed...among other things."

"Oh, what is it with the people in your life thinking I'm brainwashing you? What am I, a cult leader?" he said, less than pleased.

"Uh huh, now you're mad. See why I am? I actually slapped my own mother across the face. I've never done anything like that in my entire life, but I did today after she praised Paul for the sixth time, compared Daddy to him, insulted you over and over again, and said I wasn't smart enough to choose a boyfriend who doesn't trick me into falling for him after such a short amount of time."

"Time, time, time...who cares about time! A week, a month...it doesn't matter, does it? I'm not going to deny my feelings just because there's some unspoken timeline of when things are supposed to happen!"

Amy leaned over and kissed Steve. "Hey, I'm on your side, remember? You don't have to convince me about it. Hell, you really shouldn't have to convince my mother either."

"Why is that?" he asked, calming down slightly.

Amy began softly running her fingers through Steve's hair. "Because according to my aunt, Karen's mom, my mother came home from her first date with my dad convinced she had found the man she was going to marry. After one date. One. And...they met on a blind date, so they didn't even know each other for, what, the two days we did?" She laughed. "In comparison, we waited an eternity."

"How ironic," Steve said.

"Isn't it though? But you know, if she took that into consideration, she couldn't tell me what to do and force me to go back to LA with her. Not gonna happen now. The only way she's taking me back there is in a body bag."

Steve didn't like that thought. "How about we not talk about you dying when there's a lunatic out there who might make that happen, okay?" He pulled her over on top of him and held her for a while.

"Sorry." She didn't say anything for a moment, just listened to Steve breathe, which she found soothing. "I should have put that a different way I guess. I'm never going back there though. If she's so damn determined to hook me up with Paul, she just can never see me again."

"She actually wants you to…" He couldn't even say it.

Amy picked her head up and looked at Steve. "You're the bad guy, and he's the good guy. You believe that?"

She suddenly had the same look on her face that he had seen Jasmine have in the car before she started crying.

"Hey, don't start that again. All this crying is going to make me cry. Look, after tomorrow, Paul will be in jail, and whether your mother believes that he's still the good guy or not doesn't really matter. He'll be out of your life forever, and if you want to put your mother in that category too...you'll still have me, for good or for bad."

Amy smiled. "How did someone like me get so lucky to get someone like you? I'm surrounded by lunatics, and you still care about me. Maybe I'm a lunatic too and you should really be afraid."

He smiled. "Then we'll have to be lunatics together," he said before putting his hands on her face and kissing her passionately.

This went on for a bit until Steve remembered Jasmine was in the living room.

"As much as I would love to explore this further," he said, clearing his throat, "I have a surprise for you in the living room and I'm sure it's getting restless."

Amy sat up. "A surprise that's getting restless?" She gave him a confused look. "What did you do, buy me a guard dog?"

Steve sat up as well. "No, but that would have been a good idea now that you say it. No, it's...you know where Janice Duncan is right now?"

"You ask like I care."

"Just play along, will you?"

Amy shrugged. "In jail?" she asked, scoffing like it was a nonsensical answer.

Steve nodded.

Her jaw dropped. "Are you serious? What for?"

"Fraud. I'm hoping she stays there, frankly."

She just stared at him. Then her shock turned to sadness. "So, if she's in jail, where's Jasmine? God, don't tell me they put her in foster care!"

Steve got off the bed and walked over to the door. "They did, actually. That place was...not ideal...so they moved her."

Amy flopped down on the bed, putting her face into the mattress. "Make me feel better, then tell me this. Thanks a bunch, Steve. Where is she, in a group home or something?" She sat back up and looked at him. "Have you ever been in those places? That poor baby wouldn't last a second!"

He put his hand on the door knob. "I learned something about you today. You are a registered foster parent."

"Yeah, so?"

"You remember a woman named Lois McFadden? She's the one who told me."

"Lois...yeah, I worked with her for a few months. She works in the office that places children with foster families." Amy still had no idea where this conversation was going.

He opened the door. "She and I decided to use that fact to everyone's advantage." He put his hand out for Amy to take.

She just shook her head, but got off the bed and took his hand. "What in the hell are you even talking about?" she muttered as Steve led her out of the bedroom and into the living room. When she got there and saw what in the hell he was actually speaking of, she froze.

"Look who I found," Steve announced, letting go of Amy's hand and stepping off to the side.

Jasmine looked up from the TV and saw Amy standing there. She shrieked and ran over to Amy, who promptly picked her up. The two gave each other the tightest hugs Steve had ever seen. Amy, naturally, started crying again. Jasmine soon followed suit.

"You two...no wonder you get along so well," he said, grabbing a tissue from the kitchen, walking over to Amy, and wiping some of the tears off her face.

"How did you do this?" she asked him quietly, Jasmine's head still buried in her shoulder.

"Got a call from a guy in fraud. I'd handed over the whole financial mess of...theirs," he said, pointing to Jasmine, "to them. They find a whole bunch of wrongdoings and she ends up…" He didn't know how to say it without Jasmine catching on that he was talking about Janice.

"In the gray bar hotel?" Amy added.

"Yeah, there. I got curious about where this one ended up, so I made some calls. Lois was more than happy to let her come here."

Amy smiled. "She was a nice lady...about the only nice one in that office. So she's ours? She's not leaving?"

Steve nodded. "At least not right away. It'll depend on what happens to our...hotel guest...and if any relatives step forward, but for now...congratulations, Mom."

Tears ran down Amy's face, but this time they were tears of joy.

Jasmine picked her head up off Amy's shoulder. Her face was wet too, so Steve took the tissue and wiped tears off her face as well.

"I guess I'm going to have to go out and buy more Kleenexes, if you two are going to be here for very long."

Amy laughed. "We'll try to cut down." She looked at Jasmine. "I am so happy that you're going to be staying with us!"

Jasmine smiled. "Steve promised me that Mama wouldn't come back and get me. She can't hit me or yell at me ever again!"

"Oh, he did huh?" Amy looked at him, worried that it was a promise he wouldn't be able to keep.

"Yeah. We had a nice talk on the way over here. We'll, uh, have to talk about it later," he said to Amy. "She had a pretty bad morning, but I think she'll be better now."

"Steve's friends came and took Mama to jail. I don't want them to bring her back, but he said they won't."

"I hope he's right." Amy rubbed the girl's back, then had a thought. "Wait a minute." She looked at Steve in a panic. "What about the restraining order?"

He leaned in and whispered the word "nonexistent" in her ear.

"What?! That's impossible!"

"You ever see it? I mean, an actual paper?"

Amy shook her head.

"I had the woman check twice. Nothing on file."

Amy sighed. "I wonder if there's a class I can take to learn how to know when I'm being lied to; I'm obviously bad at it."

Steve ran his fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her left ear. "Not an issue anymore though, right? Hey, I bet you two are pretty hungry by now; I know I am."

Amy turned to Jasmine. "Are you hungry?"

Jasmine nodded. "Daddy said we could have anything we wanted. I want fries."

"Daddy?" Amy asked her.

"Steve." She looked at him. "He's my new daddy, and you're my new mommy, right?" She looked at Amy, smiling.

Amy looked at Steve. He shrugged.

"I...guess we are," she told Jasmine. She then turned to Steve. "Well...Daddy...the princess wants fries, so I guess burgers and fries it is?"

"Sounds good to me." Steve headed to the front door.

"I have to go potty," Jasmine told Amy, who put her down and showed her where the bathroom was. She then came back out to the living room and gave Steve an "I'm sorry" look.

"I did not expect her to say that. I guess she really likes you though. She's not really a shy girl, but she's normally not that affectionate towards people she doesn't know well. Sorry if you didn't expect to be a father so quickly."

"If I have to be an instant dad, I can't think of someone I'd rather be a parent with than you," he said, kissing her again.

She blushed and pulled away. "The girl does have good instincts about people."

Steve smiled. "She really does; she loves you. We'll make her a better mommy and daddy than hers did anyway, no?"

Amy just looked at him and smiled. Her emotions were making her feel like a mess inside.

"What do you want?"

Amy, who'd been lost in some romantic thought about her and Steve being parents, snapped out of it. "Huh?"

"To eat. What do you want?"

"Oh. Surprise me. Make sure hers only has ketchup on it though."

"See you in a bit," he said and walked out the front door.

Amy felt a little weak in the knees, but she tried to work through the feeling. She started laughing nervously. "If my mother could see me now."


	32. Chapter 32

Paul backed a powder blue Mercury Meteor into the driveway of a house on 4th Avenue. He got out, limped to the back of the car, opened the trunk, and struggled to pull out a cardboard box. The heaviness overtook him, and he dropped it on the driveway with a thud. The contents made a loud bang as they hit the cement, causing him to look around furiously for any nosy neighbors. Not seeing anyone, he turned around and opened the garage door. He picked up the box once again and slowly took it into the garage, setting it against a wall. He then limped back to the car, slammed the trunk lid, and re-entered the garage. Closing the garage door, he then threw open the door that connected the garage to the house, threw the car keys carelessly on the kitchen counter, and went to the refrigerator for a beer.

It had been a bad day. Amy had somehow managed to disappear, and he had no idea where she was. He figured she'd run off with Steve somewhere, but his day-long efforts to find her turned up empty. There was only one lawyer in Sacramento named Steve anything, and after driving the hour and a half trek there and finding the guy, Paul knew he'd been had. Sacramento Steve was a man clearly in his 50's, short, stocky, and with a receding hairline - not the handsome 20-something he'd met in Amy's kitchen. Trying San Francisco, Paul found three lawyers named Steve, but after stalking them, found that they were not who he wanted either.

His anger grew exponentially with each failed attempt. Not having Steve's last name was making his search impossible. At one point, he became so desperate that he started looking through the phone book for anyone named Steve, but in a city of 700,000 people, that was an exercise in futility. He spent a few hours driving around the city looking for the car he'd seen Steve driving the night before, but only found one like it; unfortunately, it was black. It eventually got to the point in the day where the sun was going down, and if he couldn't find Steve in the light, he wasn't going to find him in the dark, so he had to resign his efforts and go back to the drawing board.

Before heading home for the night, he made a stop at a warehouse belonging to his father's company. His mother had given him free reign of all warehouses in the city after his father's stroke so that someone could keep an eye on them. Instead, Paul used them to either hide or steal things. This day, he took two small canisters of carbon dioxide, which were now sitting in a box in his garage. It was all part of his latest planned "accident".

After grabbing a can of beer, Paul hopped up the stairs the best he could on one foot. His temper tantrum in front of Amy's apartment door had done major damage to his right foot and with each passing hour, the pain grew. By the time he got to the top of the stairs, he could barely breathe through the pain. Carrying his beer in one hand and using the other to hold on to the wall, he made his way into the bathroom and threw open the medicine cabinet. Setting the beer can on the back of the toilet, he grabbed a prescription bottle, poured out three pills, and popped them in his mouth, washing them down with a swig of beer.

He slammed the beer can back down on the toilet and began looking for anything he could use as a makeshift cast. He didn't dare go to the hospital and get an actual cast; he had a feeling Karen had alerted the police about the hole he left in her front door. Figuring she would immediately pin it on him out of spite, he chose to remain hidden from any men in blue.

Finding nothing in the medicine cabinet, he limped into the hall and to a bedroom door. The door was covered with locks, so Paul took a large ring of keys out of his pants pocket and unlocked them all before entering. Once inside, he grabbed a large roll of gauze off a dresser, and then quickly left the room, locking each lock again before putting the key ring back in his pocket. He hopped back down the stairs to the kitchen, where he sat on a bar stool at the counter. It took him several minutes of agonizing pain just to get his right shoe off. He cursed himself for being weak as he wrapped the foot as tightly as he could stand.

With a combination of another can of beer, the pain pills, and sheer will, Paul managed to walk around the house normally, or at least to his satisfaction. If he was going to put his plan into motion soon, he had to be 100%. He had a feeling his target wouldn't be as easy as the others.

He walked back up the stairs and into another room of the house, this one a small bedroom that was barely big enough to fit a table and a chair. It was big enough for his purposes however - it had a big enough wall to display his achievements. Walking to the lone light in the room, a torch lamp that sat in the corner by his achievement wall, he turned the switch and lit up the area. The light illuminated a wall covered in photographs, newspaper clippings, and handwritten papers.

The photographs Paul was most interested in were the ones at the end, nearest the lamp. They were photographs of his next target. He stared at them in disgust; he hated this man more than anyone else on the wall, but he was proving the most challenging, and Paul did not like a challenge. With enough money, intelligence, and time, the others had been easy. This time though... It's difficult to kill someone who seems to be a living ghost.

Paul started pacing the room. He needed to be completely sure of his plan. "First step, subdue," he muttered to himself. "I'll have to catch him off guard. How though?"

He paced some more, trying to think of a way to accomplish this feat without leaving a mark. Threaten him with a gun? Chloroform on a rag? Slip something in a drink? The last one would be the most effective, but it would require close contact and witnesses might be a hindrance. He scribbled some of his thoughts on a paper that was hanging by the photographs.

Before he could think any further, the doorbell rang. "Who the hell could that be?" he said to no one. "Better not be that nosy bitch next door."

He stomped out of the room like a two year old who didn't get their way. Once he got to his front door, he looked through the peephole and was pleasantly surprised at who he saw. He threw open the door.

"Mrs. J!" he said exuberantly.

There stood Amy's mother Margaret, a smile on her face that she didn't have earlier at Steve's. "Paul! You look great."

They hugged and he invited her in. He led her to the living room, where he turned on some lights. She sat down on a brown leather sofa.

"I didn't know you were in town," Paul told her, sitting himself next to her.

"Came up today. How are you?" she said, sounding concerned. "What on earth did you do to your foot?" she asked, seeing it wrapped in gauze. "Your mother worries so much about you. You really ought to call her more."

"This? Oh, just a sprain - nothing to worry about. I know...I've been busy lately. I promise I'll call her tomorrow. Are you up here visiting Amy?" he asked, thinking maybe she'd tell him where Amy was.

"In a way," she answered, sounding very disappointed. "I don't know what's gotten into that girl." She shook her head.

"What do you mean?" Paul inquired.

"She's got it in her head that her father was murdered, going as far as getting the police involved!"

"Murdered?" Paul did his best to feign shock.

Margaret nodded. "I know; it's ridiculous, but she's so convinced that now the police are involved. Of course, it was the police who put that idea in her head in the first place."

Paul gave her a look of confusion.

"I had so wished that having you up here with her would cause sparks to fly." She giggled. "I shouldn't admit that, but seeing you two together...you are so good for her. She just doesn't see it!"

Paul smirked. "Well, it's not for lack of trying on my part! She's always been a stubborn girl, and lately she's been...awfully distracted. I don't know - I just can't get her to open up to me."

"Distracted is a good word for it. Kind of like some people and shiny objects. Her shiny object is a man though."

"Oh?" Paul acted as if this were the first time he'd heard of this.

Margaret shook her head. "She's become infatuated with this man, and he's filling her head with false hope and lies about her father. He insists he was murdered."

"Why would some random guy think that anyway? If she never thought it, why would he?"

"Because he's a cop, and I think they see crimes everywhere they look."

Paul didn't say a word. He just sat there in stunned silence. No wonder he couldn't find a lawyer named Steve - no wonder he couldn't find him at all. If he was a cop, and Amy had convinced him that Paul was a bad guy, he'd use the power of the entire force to keep her hidden.

He had to make sure he and Margaret were thinking of the same guy. "A cop? She's dating a cop? When did this start?"

Margaret laughed. "A week ago! She's convinced they're in love...after a whole week. He's got her so brainwashed."

Paul shook his head to show Margaret he was on her side. "Maybe I can talk some sense into her. You know, as an old friend just looking out for her. Remind her who the good guys are. What's his name?"

"Steve...something. Now I don't remember. Something that started with a K...Kellogg? Kelley?" She sat and thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers. "Keller. That was it - Keller."

"Steve Keller. Huh. You know, I haven't been able to get ahold of Amy in a couple days. You don't suppose she's with this guy…" Paul attempted to bait an address out of Margaret.

She nodded. "She's at his house. You know why she's at his house? Here's the thing that makes me wonder if she hasn't had some kind of mental breakdown - she claims she's hiding from you."

Paul gasped. "Me?! Why would she be hiding from me?"

"She claims you're stalking her and following her around town! Oh my, the bizarre things coming out of that girl's mouth. You don't think she's doing drugs, do you?" Margaret asked, honestly concerned that this was a possibility.

Paul shrugged. "Stress makes people do strange things. And cops...what can I say about them. They're worse than the people they arrest. Say, maybe I should talk to her in person. Where does this Steve Keller guy live?"

Margaret shook her head. "I don't know, some little apartment somewhere. Not far from Amy's apartment, but I haven't the faintest idea where Karen drove. I wasn't paying attention."

"Karen knows though?" Paul asked, with a gleam in his eye.

"Yes, she's the one who took us over there."

"Hmm. Well, I'll call her tomorrow and get the address." He put his hand on Margaret's shoulder. "Don't worry, Mrs. J; I'll find out what's going on."

Margaret set her hand on his. "You've always been such a good friend to her. I really wish you could convince her to make you part of our family legally."

Paul smirked. "I've been coming up with a pretty good plan for that. Maybe now is the time to try it. I mean, you can't have a cop as a son-in-law, can you? Especially one in San Francisco! She'd never get home to see you then! It happens a lot when kids move away and find spouses in their new town; it's like they forget their family existed." He knew that would get her.

"She would, too! She won't even come home now, and I'm certain this Steve won't let her out of this city." She began weeping. "Please get my baby to come home! This city is ruining her! If I can't do it, I'm sure you can."

Paul gave her a hug. "I know I can."

The two chatted for a half hour before Margaret decided she better get back to the hotel before Kaye started asking questions. Margaret told Paul again how good for Amy he was and how much faith she had in him to bring Amy home. He assured her he'd do whatever it took.

The minute she left, Paul lost his temper. He stormed up the stairs and into the small bedroom where he ripped one of the photographs of Steve and Amy off the wall.

"A cop, huh?! You have the nerve to leave me for a fucking cop?! You stupid bitch!" he yelled at the photograph.

He looked around and spotted a lighter on the table. Grabbing it, he immediately lit the photograph on fire and threw it in the trash can, watching Steve and Amy burn. He then turned back to the notes he'd scribbled on the wall before Margaret came.

"Maybe it's time for a new plan," he growled, taking a marker and drawing a blood-red x across Steve's face.


End file.
